


The Wooing of Tim Drake

by Titans_R_Us



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Also I need more tags, Courtship AU, Damian Wayne Feels, Developing Relationship, Feels for Everyone, First Time, Healthy Relationships, Lingerie, M/M, Nothing happens until Damian is legal, Now Damian is legal, Pining, Starts out sweet and later will be smut, Tim Drake Feels, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage but not really, Yes there are other characters but those two are most important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titans_R_Us/pseuds/Titans_R_Us
Summary: Tim didn't stand a chance.Each action, each gift, each gesture was calculated for the best possible result. The source of this smothering affection is surprising but Tim can't find a single reason to say no...So he doesn't. The brat somehow worms his way into his heart one inch at a time.Meanwhile Damian is quite pleased with how his courtship progresses.





	1. Sneaking into Courtship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rahn (Rahndom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/gifts).



> Moving this from my tumblr to here. :D A present for Rahndom that started as something small and then suddenly grew into a monster.

To be absolutely fair, Tim had thought it was Alfred at first.  The man had a precedent for leaving food and drink beside Tim’s workplace or room at the manor, usually accompanied with a quick reproach about the last time he ate.  

Him placing out a cup of the _most divine coffee Tim had ever tasted_ was not too much of a stretch, all right? He would turn his head or get up to retrieve another file and the glorious beverage was there.  It was if the heavens had opened to finally give Tim a break.  

Yet when cups of coffee continued to appear at his apartment away from Alfred’s domain, Tim had to start to suspect another culprit.  

Dick? No. Dick has as much reserve as a _Las_ _Vegas Floor Show._  Everything is blatant adoration with at least thirty minutes of physical smothering.  Plus, he freaking cheats with his body weight. Tim would make a fat joke but then that would turn the forced cuddle session into a full-blown tickle war and **_war. is. hell_.**

Jason?  Well, they have moved from _“Die, replacement die.”_ But Tim highly doubts it, especially since Jason spends most of his spare time with the Outlaws currently.  

It could be Cass.  If she wasn’t in Hong Kong.  Alas with hours of flight between them, it is unlikely. And Steph…Steph never did that kind of thing.  Even when they _were_ together.    

Bruce is out of the equation too as the reigning **champion** of Worst-At-TLC.  Like _“No, Alfred I’m fine.  I haven’t lost over 4 liters of blood…its just 3.7 litters of blood.”_

So when Tim catches a glimpse of black, yellow and red out of the corner of his eye during mid- sip well…huh.  

He still doesn’t say anything to Damian the next day during a family briefing.  Tim just drinks, protecting his magical coffee from Dick who whines about the delicious smell.  And pretends he doesn’t see Damian stealing glances at him as Bruce goes on about a situation at the docks.   

Well, Tim didn’t expect that…

* * *

Neither did he expect things to escalate.  But Tim’s been wrong before.  

He’s wrong now as he stares at his closet.  At the _thing_ in his closet.  

True, his closet is a hodge-podge of other people’s clothes he’s stolen over the years.  Dick’s old college paraphernalia with comfort worn in the cotton sweats.  A leather jacket that Tim rightly _earned_ from Jason.  Several t-shirts from teammates crammed in next to pressed suits that Alfred measures him up for once in a while.  But overall Tim knows what’s in his closet.  

A dark velvet sweater isn’t one of them.    

He rubs the fabric between his fingers and _swears_. It feels amazing.  Like a cloud, an extremely expensive cloud but it’s understated enough that Tim could wear it regularly and it wouldn’t be out of place for his style at all.  The color would make his pale skin shine and blue eyes pop.  Maybe then Steph would stop calling him a tired hobo at Alfred’s mandatory family dinners.  

He tests his hypothesis later wearing it the next family dinner and gets a positive response.  

From Steph who remarks, “Oh good, it’s _about time_ you wore something else, you hobo.”  And geez _, I love you too, but not in that way,_ Stephanie.

To a quiet fond look from Bruce and Alfred’s rebuttal of, “Master Timothy always looks presentable, Miss Stephanie.”

But Tim keeps a watch on Damian the most.  The way his expression turns pleased, lips twitching yet not a word escaping his mouth. 

And Tim wonders if he really should be encouraging this.  

* * *

The answer is no.  

No, because over time the objects in his closet have multiplied.  While slowly his other clothing has been weeded out, _Tim’s still upset about the leather jacket_ , until only Dick and Alfred’s things remain.  True every new article is ridiculously comfortable and stylish.  He can’t even complaint because they’re things he would normally buy for himself if he had the time to shop.  

So far he can’t find a way to phrase that confrontation yet.   “Stop buying me clothes that I like.” Or “The wonderful coffee has to stop, Damian,” is probably not the best way to handle Damian’s new behavior.  

Is he trying to make amends? To restart their relationship now that Damian’s back from the grave?  Is this Damian’s version of an olive branch?

Either way Tim has to put an end to the _tied-up ninjas_ that litter the floor of his apartment.  It’s embarrassing.  One of the bruised ninja nudges a com with their shoulder and begrudgingly…Tim takes it and sinks into the sofa.

“Why is he doing this, Ra’s? I don’t understand.” Tim presses his mouth against his joint hands and stares stubbornly at the struggling men.  

His smug voice is grating even over the radio.  “Nonsense, you’ve already put the pieces together, you are only unwilling to accept the conclusion.”

“I thought he was just being nice.” It _so_ could have been a possibility. Dick’s been trying from day one to beat some camaraderie into that boy.  After a while some of that has got to stick right?  

Ra’s scoffs, “An Al Ghul is never _just nice_ , Timothy.  I would have hoped that our association would have enlighten you to that concept.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Tim shudders, glad that there’s a couple thousand miles between them.  He begins to shoo the ninja to crawl or limp out his window so he can focus, “But isn’t twelve a little too young for this?”

A static pause.  “I hate to advocate for my crass grandson, at the least my overtures have been subtle, yet my Talia did start courting your Bruce at sixteen.”  

Oh. My. God.  

“Ra’s I’m going to hang up now.” Tim doesn’t know what’s worse that Ra’s thought he was being _subtle_ or that Bruce was attacked by an underage predator.   _Or is it the other way around?_

“True, he is a bit young, but I understand why he would set his eyes on a worthy goal to attain.  I suppose I should be grateful that my family acquires you in one way or other-“

Tim has never had so much satisfaction crushing a radio com before.   The sizzle and pop it makes under his boot is truly music to his ears. That’s takes care of Ra’s… 

Now what on earth is he doing to do about Damian?

* * *

The apartment is still dark, but there’s a hue that lightens as dawn approaches.  The shadows have started to recede, all but one.  One who just aims to complete his new routine.  He waits until he hears the shower running and pulls away from his hiding spot.  

Drake always showers upon waking.  They’re long and scalding as if his predecessor is practicing for hell.  Not that the teen will end up there.  Not on Damian’s watch.  

He silently stalks through the apartment, well acquainted with the alarms and which floorboards creak. The place is old but maintained and refurnished often.  All of their safehouses are.  In Drake’s bedroom, Damian places a Styrofoam cup on the desk next to a case file and freezes.

There’s a mug.

A chipped mug with his mother’s rare chai rests next to the file.  

“Alfred said it was your favorite.  Was he wrong?”

Damian twists around to find Drake leaning against the doorframe.  He’s still in his bedclothes as the shower still runs in the background.  

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian snarls.

Drake raises an eyebrow, “I could say the same.  In fact, I think there’s _a lot_ we need to talk about.”

Very few things start well with that sentence.  Damian feels the tension rise in his veins.  Drake has never wanted to _talk_ before.  

“I’m not mad, Damian.” He walks over and reaches across Damian to take the coffee.  Then he gestures to the bed, “Sit and drink with me?”

They drink side by side. The tea warms Damian’s chilled bones even as he wonders if this is just another part of Drake’s trap.  

Drake sighs in contentment and the sound comforts Damian.  At least he’s done one thing right. “Want to tell me when?  When you wanted to start this?”

“It was after my resurrection when you and the others gave me the robin medallions.  As if…you finally accepted me in that role.” Damian says stiffly.  “I-I started to note your abilities and devotion to the mission from another perspective.”  

Drake hums as if to prompt him further.  

“I believed a change in our relationship was necessary.  You seemed to be amendable to my actions…” He notes that the sleepwear that he provided for Drake hangs on his frame.  It’s perfect and something possessive purrs inside him.

“Congrats.  You’re the sneakiest sneak that ever sneaked.” Drake drains his cup at Damian’s loud indignation.  “It took me a while to realize what your gifts exactly meant.”  

“ _Is that a rejection, Drake?”_  Damian steels himself; he knew it was coming yet…

“Call me Timothy.  Or Tim.” He cups his chin with one hand. “If we’re going to try this courting thing at all, I’d prefer my first name, thanks.”

“Timothy.” The name rolls off his tongue and Damian prays that _Timothy_ will assume his flush comes from the tea.  

“Oh, and _absolutely nothing_ is going to happen until you’re older. **Nothing**.”

It’s best to lay lines in the sand now while Tim can.  He remembers what it feels like to have a crush and he’s determined not to take advantage of Damian’s.  Tim would have pegged **Dick** to be his first crush.   _Dick is always everyone’s first crush_.   Besides it’s not like he’s seeing anyone anyway and this whole thing…well Tim’s charmed. It’ll be nice while it lasts until Damian moves on to other people.

“I don’t want you to regret anything _when_ you start looking for someone new.”

Damian growls.  “You mean _if_.”

_“When.”_

**_“IF.”_ **

And Tim can already see their first argument blooming on the horizon.  “Just drink your tea, Damian.”

_“And what do you mean nothing until I’m older?”_

“You’re twelve, that’s what it means.”

Damian’s hair starts to bristle. “So?  My mother was young when she met Father.”

“Yes, I’ve been made horribly, _horribly_ aware.  But she was sixteen and you’re not.”   Tim wishes the caffeine would kick in faster.  Damian is getting this contemplative glint that Tim feels like he should be nervous about.  

“Then I suppose this another thing I must be _sneaky_ for.”

“Wha—“ A soft press against his mouth makes Tim’s eyes go wide.  Damian kneels on the bed to put their heads on the same level.  His lips are chapped and cracked, but there’s an aftertaste of chai as Damian pulls away.  

Damian smiles at the shocked look on his Timothy’s face.  It suits his intended well.

“It looks like you’re out of coffee, Timothy… _Would you like some tea instead?”_


	2. When the Cradle Comes After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian’s been magically deaged and Tim is his most favorite person. Sequel to “Sneaking into Courtship.”

Tim is going to kill Dick.  

“You know, Timmy. Damian’s always been a bit young for you,” He reaches over to poke Damian’s ridiculously chubby checks, “ But I didn’t think you’d turn out to be a LITERAL _cradle robber_.”

He’s gonna skin the acrobat gleefully if he doesn’t quit it.  "Dick I just got him to sleep.  If you dare wake him up….“

Dick just moves to touch Damian again. "But he’s so _soft_ and _squishy_.” He coos when Tim attempts to evade, “He’s never been squishy before.”

“Dick.” Tim growls as lightly as possible.  He freezes when the small burden on his chest shifts a little.

It’s a noise he’s never heard come out of the youngest Bat before, part-whine, part snuffle. The bundle against his chest squirms again to get comfortable or just to shut Grayson up so he can sleep.

Tim glares at Dick as if he can burn him with the sheer annoyance in his soul.  Too bad Dick is immune to that. “It’s just not fair!” He indignantly whispers, “Damian won’t let anyone hold him except for you!”

Tim knows this.

It is an unfortunate truth that he cannot escape. At first the team could take turns and deceptively Damian appeared mild mannered until Tim left the room. Then even Alfred was allotted only 15 minutes before howling screams commenced. Tim’s basically running on _fumes_. But if he’s learned anything this week-no kids. Ever. Ever, _ever_. Plus if the squished nose and teary eyes are any indication, he’s got a real weakness for his smallest sibling in need.

This? This is not conducive to being a full time vigilante.

Especially since Tim finally gets the old adage, _‘You sleep when baby sleeps.’_  Like he _tried_ to work around it, he really did.  Tried to look at the monitor or do some casework when Damian was napping, slumped over his legs.  But when it’s time for HIM to pass out? Well, Damian becomes every upset when his playmate is unconscious. So soon he’s gonna have to hit the hay himself.

Dang it.

His friends would be _so_ pleased that someone accomplished what they could not.

Objective Get-Tim-To-Sleep is complete.  All Tim needs is a cake and a party.

Leaving Dick to sulk and drink his coffee in peace, Tim trudges to his room or _makeshift nursery_ upstairs in the manor. The snuggly child against his chest sighs again in contentment now that the yapping has ceased. He may have a few hours of blissful rest while Dami is conked out. Then, it’s the usual jealous grinding of teeth while the others head down to the Cave to get suited up for the night.

“Right now, I would even patrol with YOU if I could.” Baby Dami just squishes his nose in his sleep and dammit… _that is adorable._

What did Jason say again? Oh yeah. _“Dude, Baby-brat imprinted on you hard.”_ To which Tim had intelligently replied, _'Oh go die again. Your grave misses you.”_ Yet that didn’t stop the older bat from sniggering when Damian whined for Tim to pick him up that first time.

The Bats aren’t new to the whole magically deaged thing, but wow if Damian doesn’t take the cake with the total 180 **°** in personality.   He’s one cuddly, sweet and _happy_ toddler.  Or at least he is around Tim.  All right that’s not exactly fair. Damian’s also fine with others if Tim is in sight, but really Tim has half a mind to slap Talia _like it’s going out of style_. To turn Damian from this into…the angry young man he knows so well? Not that he has a problem with Damian anymore. Not after his confession about his intentions.

But he can’t deny the facts. Talia and Ra’s need their asses kicked. Hardcore. After this fuckery is all said and done, there would be plans. Many, many plans. He hasn’t even Rick Rolled them yet and that’s a crying shame.  

He settles down in his own bed, the weight on his chest moving with soft breaths.  It’s only been a week so far, but if they don’t fix Dami soon, he’s gonna snap.  He prays for patience and moves to set his alarm while going over the details: Zantanna is on the back end, doing the research side. The JLA is scouring and his systems running analysis on files and folklore. Something would ping eventually. Until then: he’d heft his mini-admirer around.

Well, might as well start on paying the sleep debt.  Tim glances over to Damian and stops dead.  

Damian’s eyes are in that half-closed state. The state that could spell _“I’m actually sleeping, I just don’t have control over my eyelids yet.”_ Or _“I shall now wake up and find ways to make you suuuuufffer.”_

“Shhhhhh.” Tim tries.  "Just setting the alarm, close your eyes.“

But when has Damian EVER complied with his wishes.  Those eyes become wider just to spite him. Yup. Trouble.

Tim sighs and lies on his side, "Okay,” he mutters in a soft voice, “I’m trying here. Really trying. Cut me a break. Please?”

In reply, Damian propped himself up wobbly, and moved to pat his cheek.

Games then. He’s already got a crate of the usual array. Stuffed dinosaurs, blinky books, and an old train set that was Bruce’s.  

Too bad, when Tim shifts towards the horde Damian grips his shirt more stubbornly with an ugly pout. Whelp, looks like Tim seems to be Damian’s favorite toy.   _Go figure._ But maybe he can make do.  Tim makes a face and Damian breaks out in these stupid freaking giggles that one of them needs to record.

“I knew you’d like that.  What about this?” Rolling around, he raises Dami up into the air and back down, small hands on his face and back up at arm’s length.

“Ups,” while the laughs are part squeals. “Down.” And nose to nose.  They both kick their legs and laugh.  

The next time Damian’s down, the child cheerfully attacks his nose.  "What’s this?  Nom-nom-nom time?“ Tim states bemused. At least he’s not teething, thank god for small favors.

Of course it doesn’t change that Tim should have expected what came next.

He feels Damian slobber over his mouth, and Tim jerks his head but it’s too late.

His lips feel wet, "Ewwwwww, gross Dami!” There’s drool smeared across the side of his face.  

Then he realizes that he’s not holding a baby anymore. Not a baby at all.

Instead a teenager is grinning, sly and satisfied, pressing against Tim in a whole different context. His weight pushes Tim into the mattress as Damian leans down to wrap his arms around Tim’s startled neck.  

“Excellent job, Habibi,” he purrs and this kiss…is much better than the last.

The only thing that keeps it from being perfect is Dick singing, _“True Love’s Kiss”_ in the hallway.  But that’s problem for another day.


	3. Reducing Territorial Aggression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian’s a possessive snot. It shouldn’t be cute, but it kinda is. Tim attempts to train it out of him with moderate success.

It’s all Tim’s fault.

He gets that. He should have predicted this sort of outcome. It’s a personal failure for him as a tactician and mission leader. 

“I’m so sorry, Kon.” He says to Kon who just gives his little accepting smile that squeezes Tim tight. No wait. That’s just Damian’s arm around his waist. 

“It’s okay, Tim. Really.” 

“No, it’s not. I got distracted and forgot our plans like a jerk.” He grips the doorframe to pull himself forward a precious inch. “Let me make it up to you, if you want we can go out _now_ for pizza or something.”

“That is very unlikely, Timothy.” The inch Tim so rightfully earned shrinks into a centimeter as Damian tugs him back. The brat is only fifteen, _“Sixteen next month Habibi,”_ but the height distance between them has reversed quickly. Already Damian can rest his chin comfortably on Tim’s shoulder, and does so now just to stick out his tongue to the Super outside. 

Kon sticks his tongue right back at him. He’s not ‘above’ that kinda thing. “Hate to break it to you Rob, but Demon Child is right. You’re going nowhere.” 

“What? I could _so_ go out right now!” His protest seems to lose weight with the half-lidded look of pride Damian gives the clone. 

“Nah.  Your ball and chain is pretty persistent tonight. Besides I didn’t come to rub guilt all over your whipped ass.” Hands in his pockets, Kon leans back on his heels.

_“Whipped?”_

“Then why are you here, Clone?” Damian asks with a mild grunt. Damian knows how much Kon hates that term, but Tim’s elbows don’t seem to deter him much. 

“Don’t be rude, Dami.” Damian just snorts. 

“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be full of manners?” But Kon isn’t even paying attention to Damian’s glares anymore. “But to the point, Cassie demands that since you couldn’t hang with us tonight, you owe her and the gang dinner on Sunday.”

Damian growls in the back of his throat.

Tim tries to elbow him again, but with Damian plastered over his back it’s harder to get an angle. “Well that’s fair.  I can do that.  Besides who am I to reject a request from a warrior goddess?”

“You’re a smart guy, Tim.” He waves and turns to go, “Try to muzzle that guard dog, Sunday ‘kay?”

“I can only try.” And pushes a snarling Damian back into the apartment. Tim slams the door and twists to face Damian. 

“Alright this has gone long enough, this is the third time you’ve ‘tricked’ me into missing my plans!”

“How was I supposed to know Alfred’s recipe would take that long?” They had attempted soup tonight. It had turned out _interesting_ …but surprisingly edible. 

“That’s a poor excuse and you know it! Or what about the time you almost bit Dick’s hand off at breakfast?”

“…He deserved it.” Damian folds his arms defensively.

_“You announced to the table that I loved you best!”_

“To which Dick childishly responded, _‘Well, Timmy’s loved me longest’_ if I recall correctly.”

Tim sees that he’s gonna have to switch tactics. “Answer me Damian, who am I dating?”

“Me.” A warm hum echoes in Damian’s chest.

“Who did I make dinner with tonight?”

A rich purr. “Me.”

“Who do I patrol most with?” Tim starts to approach with intent in his eyes.

“Me.” 

“Who loves and adores me?” Timothy’s hands frame Damian’s face as he coos cheekily at the teen.

A flush overtakes half of Damian’s cheeks, “Me.” 

He squishes Damian’s face slightly.  It’s cute. “And who’s gonna stop fighting with my family and friends _because_ he loves and _trusts_ me?”

_“Habibi, that’s cheating!”_

“Tit for tat, Dearest. Now answer the question.”

Damian sighs with a mild scowl. Tim calls it a pout really. “…Me. 

Tim smiles and rewards the response with a kiss.  Tim does his best to keep it light really, but Damian won’t have it.  He keeps trying to coax Tim’s mouth wider and wider, disappointed when Tim maintains his limit on ‘deep’ kisses.  Tch. 

“Okay last question,” Damian embraces the curl of satisfaction at the breathlessness in Timothy’s voice. _“Who do I love?”_

And Damian buries his face into Timothy’s throat. Hiding while Timothy starts to laugh.   _“Me.”  
_

“Good.” Timothy says with a pat.  “Now help me with the dishes.” 

And Damian huffs a bit, yet dries each plate with a rare look of contentment on his face. 

* * *

The next day while they work out in the cave, Tim puts his plan of intervention into action. If his hypothesis is correct, Damian might be acting out due to a lack of PDA.

Damian usually initiates most physical contact.  

Tim responds positively of course, but well he’s not exactly the most open person. People have a harder time hurting your feelings if they don’t know what they are. But for Damian, pulling back the curtain a tiny bit…might go a long way.

Because he does adore Damian. Very very much.

“Grayson since Timothy is neither a girl or a redhead, I ask that you keep your hands above the waist.” Damian sneers as Dick helps Tim to stretch. 

In retaliation, Dick takes Tim’s thigh and lifts his leg higher. “You’re just jealous that I asked Tim if he wanted help _first._ ”

Tim hisses at the burn, but nods when Dick gives a concerned look.  Flexibility has never been his strongest suit.  It’s nice when Dick can drop some pointers here and there.  Even if Dick doesn’t quite grasp that most people are not _freaking pretzels_.   

“Don’t prove yourself a simpleton,” A clang. Damian’s added more weights to the machine he’s using. “I just believe that sort of aid should be reserved for someone more intimate.” 

“What do you say Babybird? Want to get _intimate_ with me?” Dick waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I just learned a new nerve strike from Cass, Dick.” Tim says coolly. 

Dick just laughs, shifting his grip to a safe hip instead, “Alright, no hanky-panky.  Let’s move to next set, okay?”

“Okay, just don’t break me in half.”

“Don’t worry, that’s Damian’s job.” The weights on the machine ring, but Damian doesn’t refute the statement.  In fact the teen limits himself to only a few angry mutters as the two on the mat finish warming up. 

It’s fantastic progress if Tim says so himself.  He definitely thinks positive reinforcement is in order.

“Thanks Dick.”

“No problem, little brother.” Dick gets up and moves to the rings for his arms. The rings are set up just around the corner. Not entirely out of the way but so that what Tim has planned isn’t completely obvious. Perfect.

He motions to Damian, “Hey, if you’re done could you help me with my sit-ups for a bit?”

The teen grumbles but complies. With Tim on his back, Damian kneels and holds Tim’s feet in place. “How many reps, Habibi?”  

“Hmmmm, I think fifty for now.  Would you count?”

He nods, “That sounds a bit low for you, but as you wish.”

Tim crosses his arms against his chest and starts. Yet when he comes up, he pecks Damian’s lips quickly.

_“Timothy!”_ He jerks startled.  

“That’s one.  I don’t hear you counting, Damian.” Tim then completes his second, giving him a wet smack.

Damian’s eyes are wide. “Two.” He breathes.

Tim grins.

A swallow. “Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

Around thirty-five, Damian gets the idea to start repeating numbers to get more kisses. **The little snot.**  He only _remembers_ to count properly if the kisses are longer.  

But Tim can’t really begrudge him; he doesn’t mind the extra workout…at all.

Besides he’s always wanted abs that can break _cheese_.


	4. Unexpected Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things keep spiraling, Damian keeps devoting and honestly Tim…how did you expect this whole thing to go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE IS LONG with a piece SMUT in all that fluff. Oh and remember to shake for SURPRISE feels! 
> 
> Also remember the tags of this fic, please turn back if none of those sound appealing to you. Damian is legal, both are very, very consenting adults and I've done my best to build up this relationship before anything happened. Overall I'm very pleased with the turnout of the fic and its ending very much. 
> 
> (Now I only have one more part to complete.)

“I keep becoming alarmed, Timothy.” Damian cups Tim’s face tenderly with his brow furrowed. _“You are so small.”_

_“I hate you,”_ Tim says somewhat squashed between Damian’s hands. “I hate it when you do this.”

At eighteen, Damian is shorter than Bruce by an inch and the monster is still growing. _It’s horrible._ Tim can usually ignore the subtle and gradual addition of bulk and height until Damian points it out in the most annoying fashion as possible.

“I continue to forget how utterly petite and fragile you look and when I notice, I want to panic.” Damian leans down just a bit more so Tim won’t strain his neck from this awkward angle as much. “You are one of the most deadly fighters I am aware of, the assassin that does not kill, and yet I long to pick you up as Grayson does.”

“Don’t you dare. We’re in _public_. And right now there are seven ways to suddenly make you shorter if you don’t stop talking.” Tim reaches up and holds Damian’s wrists lightly, threateningly.

“Ah, but as you said, we’re in public.” Therefore, Timothy cannot stop his displays of affection without making a scene.

Damian brushes his cheek with a thumb and smiles. Already Tim can hear the clicks of a nearby camera going mad. Tim glares viciously out of the corner of his eyes at Vicky Vale grinning mere feet away. He startles a bit when Damian suddenly presses their foreheads together, regaining his full attention immediately.

“Besides putting me on my knees in the middle of a Gala is somewhat inappropriate, Beloved.”

Tim sputters and shakes lose of Damian’s grip. _“I didn’t mean it like that!”_ he hisses.

Timothy’s complexion is so pale. Damian loves how well a blush can turn out with so little effort on his part. If only Tim would allow him to see how far he can get that shade to spread.

“I know. Should I find you some stairs so you can survey the ballroom properly? Or shall I get you a box?” Then again if Timothy’s legs are around his waist, the older vigilante’s head might be perfectly level with his. Hmm. How to convince Beloved to try it?

“ _You horrible brat,”_ Tim spits out. He reaches for Damian’s collar as if he’s fixing it, but really he’s tightening it very, very slightly. “I can’t believe you, _why are you like this?”_

“I apologize. I get excited when I can be physically affectionate with you without consequence.”

A growl. “Oh. There will be consequences.” Especially because Damian’s hands are now on his hips. Alright, he’s not…that mad. With friends and family, Damian has finally mellowed a millimeter. The PDA is quiet and not overabundant. He only rests his chin on top of Tim’s head when the Titans are over, he’s stopped pulling Tim in by the waist during family meetups (because Dick takes that as a challenge or cue for a group hug and _Damian has learned better_ ), he’s even stopped calling Kon _‘Clone’_ (which, to be fair, after Kon left was the first time Damian earned a kiss with actual tongue). It’s just Damian is following Brucie’s example with having a touchy persona. Once he realized how much he could get away with when Tim must play the charming CEO, Damian went from the aloof Wayne heir to what the tabloids called the whole ‘smitten Arabian Sheik’ thing.

Damian takes full advantage of it.

Layers on the accent he doesn’t even have during company interviews as he plays with Tim’s fingers and kisses them _on_ _live freaking T.V._  An arm around the waist whenever the family is due to make an appearance. Always takes the first and last dance to whatever ball they attend as Wayne Inc CEO and his obnoxiously adoring CFO.

And Tim can’t do a single thing about it. He’s gotten too used to spoiling Damian. Damn him.

“Whatever they may be, I’m sure you are worth it, Timothy.” Damian smiles and has the audacity to wink at the reporter before trying to drag Tim onto the dance floor.

“Damian Wayne, can we have a word?” A microphone is shoved into the space between them. Tim bites back a groan.

“I would prefer not to.” Damian nudges the device away from them and tugs Timothy a little further away from the incessant woman. “The event is almost over and my intended owes me a dance.”

Like blood in the water, Vicky Vane’s smile becomes hungrier. “Intended? _Why it does it sound like you and Mr. Timothy Drake-Wayne are engaged!”_

Tim freezes. They’ve never talked about that before. At all. He looks over to Damian, his eyes wide, but Damian rubs a thumb over Tim’s inner wrist. The pressure on his waist from Damian’s other hand increases as they turn away from the reporter.

“Believe me, Ms. Vale,” Damian throws over his shoulder as he leads Tim to the floor of the ballroom. “When there’s a Wayne engagement, you will have no need to assume.”

Tim was going to question Damian more, what he meant (was that just a line to throw Vicky Vale off or..?), when the man sweeps him up in a waltz. Then, every thought leaves Tim’s head, everything except how the chandeliers sparkle in the reflection of green eyes.

It is a mistake.

* * *

“Excuse me, Grayson, but as Timothy’s _lover_ , I believe the role of tending to his injuries belongs to me,” Damian snarls at Dick from across the gurney. Lying on the stretcher, his Beloved bleeds sluggishly. Of course, it was _after_ Timothy took out the gang leader that one goon got lucky. Of course, it was with a sharp instrument such as a knife, the fool slashing and landing a surprise cut. Of course, Damian and the other Bats (yet they do not quite matter) lay waste to the entire warehouse, piles of the bruised and broken filth tied up viciously when his lover fell to his knees in a surprised small _‘–oh.’_

Tim would like to say that they are all overreacting and need to stop. This doesn’t even hit the usual Wednesday night meter of stuff that hurts, but ever since the Bats, no, ever since Damian and the original mother-hen found out about his spleen, they’ve been so much more prone to losing their shit over little cuts. _Like paper cuts._ This one wasn’t even very bad, Tim swears.

“Oh no you didn’t! You know what rhymes with lover, Baby Bat? _Brother._ And who’s the best at that? _ME! Now give me those!”_

At the outburst Tim looks to Jason beseechingly. “I will pay you to get me out of here.” There’s a crash close to the two as the youngest and oldest fight over the bandages.

Jason squints his eyes and folds his arms sulkily. “…No.”  

“You don’t even have to carry me, just roll me off that ledge. It’ll be easy and you’ll have pizza rolls for weeks.”

“Tempting, but, hey, no still means no.”

_“But you owe me,”_ Tim whines.

Jason flickers the cigarette out of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Remember once upon a time when you slit my throat? I demand penance. _Therefore, you owe me._ Now get me out of here.”

“Lemme think ‘bout that.” Jason taps his cheek. “Nah. Life debt or no, I ain’t gettin’ between those mother-henning fuckers.”

“Pllllllleeease Jason. Come on, you’ll piss off Dick. You love pissing off Dick.”

“I do love doin’ that,” Jason readily agrees and moves to the workbench to pull open a drawer with a clang. It’s barely heard over the din behind them. The other two have resorted to wrestling on the floor and hissing. Dick kicks the package of bandages out of Damian’s reach with the unfair advantage of his legs, the package gleaming unopened in the harsh light. It’s very similar to the one in Jason’s hands as he turns back to the gurney. “But lookie here, just found an easier way to do that. Occam’s Razor and shit.”  

He motions for Tim to lean forward wrap the worst of the gash covering on Tim’s side. Timmy himself had already handled most of the stitches, the overachieving bastard, but covering them without pulling any can be a bitch, so Jason is grateful when the idiot don’t fight ‘im.

“Look at cha, all banged up and clipped wings. You’d think getting some hanky-panky would make ya less suicidal.”

Tim’s glare is sharper than a batarang. _“Hanky-panky?_ There is no hanky-panky going on thank you very much. I’m not going to jump someone just because they just turned legal, Jason.”

“Oooohhhhh, so that’s why you’re still suicidal.”

“You’re lucky I can’t hit you like this.” Damian panics whenever Tim pops his stitches. “But one day karma will bite you hard, and I hope it’s right on the ass because of how much you are one.”

“Aw kinky, but honey? Karma bites me everyday…in the form of a tight bodysuit with blue fingertip stripes and–”

“Argh.” Tim shoves Jason a millimeter away. “You’re the worst.”

“Gimme a medal and everything, Timmy.” Then Jason pauses and turns this little convo real, “But really, do ya have to go and give Baby Bat a scare like that? The not-so-little shit adores you. Ya know that, right?”  

A moment of silence, Tim’s eyes dart away to look at the ceiling like the avoiding freak he is. It’s annoying beyond hell and a growl escapes from the back of Jason’s throat.

“He ain’t the type to fuck and run, you bastard. The brat’s practically painted yer ball and chain gold for heaven’s sake.”

“…I know that.”

“No, ya don’t. But, whatever, it’s nunna my business. Just wait, he’ll just crack yer cowardly ass open and–”

_“Todd, how dare you, that was my appointed task!”_ The shout cuts Jason’s line in half as Dick joins in with a horrible screech of wrathful jealousy.

“JASON, YOU SNEAKITY SNEAK.”

“Don’t they say the early bird gets the worm? Snooze you lose.” Jason snickers and warm careful fingers join the vigilante’s rough ones.  

“I believe that is correct, Master Jason. Now, if you allow me, I would like to check over your work on Master Timothy.” Timmy freezes. He had no idea when Alfred appeared.

“He’s all yers, Alfred.” Jason smiles at the older man and throws his hands up. Then the smile becomes a snerk. “What’s that yer were sayin’ about karma, Baby Bird?”

_“Fuck you.”_

“Language, Master Timothy.”

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“You are forgiven, Master Timothy.” The older man smiles at Tim reassuringly, but his next words have a tint of threat. “As long as you take it easy, that is.”

“He had better,” a low voice adds. The group twists to the dark figure striding towards them with purpose. Bruce looms over the group, his eyes taking in his sons and folds his arms disapprovingly. Tim doesn’t understand, _he’s a full adulting adult for crying out loud,_ how does B turn him into a six-year-old with two words and a stance? “But if Tim struggles with that particular mission, then at least we can count on Damian to keep him in bed. Right, Robin?”

“Yes, Father.” A heavy hand curls over the nape of Tim’s neck and Tim has to suppress the urge to melt. Yet it looks like he failed because Damian’s thumb massages the top of his spine and that gaze warms as Tim reluctantly relaxes. It’s comfortable, fight him. “I’m certain I can find ways to keep Timothy _occupied_.”

Of course Dick then has to take that moment to chime in “And I can help!” in his most obnoxious voice. He somehow twists himself onto the tiny space the bed still has to offer because that’s circus talent for you.

_“Stop attempting to steal my position, Grayson!”_

And somehow Tim feels his eyes sag and droop between sounds of Jay’s ugly snickering, a new fresh argument between Dick and Dami, Alfred humming under his breath, and B’s hand in his hair.

Overall? It’s not a bad night at all for Tim. Not at all.

* * *

Furniture shopping is surprisingly intimate.

_“This one,”_ Damian states. “We must have this one.”

“Damian, you’re practically sinking into that one.”

Damian is indeed sinking into the mattress and is most content except for a lack of someone. He makes grabby hands at Tim standing to the side of the bed. Other customers of the department store move to and fro, their words lost in the background.

“This one. Come here, Beloved,” he whines.

Tim sighs and shakes his head, beamused. “Honestly. If the staff gets annoyed with the infamous Waynes, it’s all your fault.” But he does get on the bed only to be tugged towards his lover.  Damian moves to position and spoon him immediately. Honestly, his lover’s place is here, tucked into Damian’s chest, enveloped safely in his arms

“It’s perfect,” Damian murmurs in his ear.

“It’s too comfortable Damian, we’d never leave it.”

Damian pecks a kiss on the back of his neck and tightens his embrace happily. “Exactly.”

* * *

By now Tim knows Damian likes to push. How on nights off, it’s a _challenge_ , a brutal struggle to keep things from going too far in Tim’s perspective. To keep kisses just kisses…make-outs just make-outs. ‘Cause is it really that selfish for a vigilante to try to take it slow for once? To ease into the sexual side of their relationship instead of…well, diving in head first and bashing your head against the side of the pool like other members of the bat-clan. Like certain members that wear tight clothing to show off their assets…Dick. It’s Dick, Tim is talking about Dick. Though, to be fair, B has a fair amount of scandalous sexpades as well. Often with people he shouldn’t.   

And Tim wishes that _he_ had taken it slower when he was getting intimate for the first time. Wishes he had thought twice, thrice because damn there are so many things that can hurt and Tim isn’t just talking about the physical nature of it all.

So whenever Damian growls at him that he’s ready, Tim replies, “Great. I’m not.” And boy does it shut up Damian so fast. His young lover lets him draw as many boundaries in the sand as he wants, only scowls when Tim makes a new rule.

The brat loves finding the loopholes anyway.

Tonight is one where Tim might even enjoy the hands on his butt, the big palms. He might make a few noises straight into his lover’s mouth because he feels so good pressed up against that chest. The weight pressing him further into the couch as Damian gets into kissing a bit too much. His head is beginning to swim with it.

“You are too addicting,” Damian hides his red face in Tim’s neck, trying to slow down. “You drive me to the brink of madness.”

“The feeling is totally mutual,” but Tim is hard against Dami, and that breath against his neck isn’t helping the situation.

Like, at all.

Damian’s leg accidentally brushing against Tim’s need and the soft gasp in Damian’s ear makes his blood run hot.

“Hands above the waist Dami!” Tim reminds frantically, damn it he’s getting sucked into Damian’s rhythm too fast. “H-Hands off.”

“Fine, Beloved.” Damian smiles wickedly, a dark look in his eye while he moves his grip to Tim’s sides instead. “But we said nothing about my tongue, did we?”

The implication has Tim unable to suppress a full body shudder, which Damian can feel, damn him. He sinks below Tim, carefully nosing the front of his pants until he finds the zipper tab and takes it in his teeth. Tim doesn’t know what sounds louder, the sound of the zipper or his heavy breathing as he stares down, Damian’s eyes glued to his. His cock still trapped in his boxers falls into the gap in the pants.

Damian kisses his stomach tenderly. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Damian!” Tim squirms embarrassedly, but Damian forces his shoulders between his legs, keeping them nice and open.

“You don’t have the faintest clue how many times I woke beside you. Feverish and desperate after dreaming of your taste.” He barely has to nudge the boxers down, Timothy is already so eager for him and Damian’s mouth waters at the sight swaying towards him.

“Ah, what a beautiful cock you have, Timothy.”

“Ohmygoshshutup.” Tim covers his face with his hands.

“It goes perfectly with your red face and your…delicious, cute nipples.” Damian purrs honestly with a note of play. One hand trailing up to tease one of those nubs, earning a slap of a hand. Yet the response uncovers Timothy’s face. Ah, wonderful.

“Shut. Up. Just, just come up here. You don’t have to do that, I—ah!”

Damian delicately laps the tip of the member and blows lightly. “Forgive me, I am talking too much. I suppose I should keep my mouth full.” And he sinks down, swallowing as much of Timothy as he can.

Tim keens at the abrupt motion of warm and wet and at how much his body _wants._

He tries to wrench himself out of Damian’s grip, but the younger man keeps him pinned to the couch. Greedily tasting, sucking, running his tongue underneath his cock as it’s taken into Damian’s mouth over and over again.

And well…Tim is not the only detective in the family.

Damian starts clumsily but catalogs every response, every reaction to the stimulus he provides. True, it was humiliating to research what he wanted to do, yet to discover how completely sensitive Timothy is? Priceless. He learns quickly, too quickly, and grows addicted to every moan and whine that falls out of Tim’s mouth.

“Dami! D-dami, oh my God you—” Tim’s furious at how Damian hunches over his lower half. Tim can only claw at his shoulders or hair at this point, and he’s the older one, the one with some experience, he should be making Damian feel good. “C-come up here. Let me touch you,” he demands, pleads.

Damian lets Timothy fall from his lips with an obscene pop. “No. Let me have my fill, Beloved. You made us wait too long.” He licks Tim from base to head a few times, chasing the pretty little thing as it sways and messily brushes his cheek. After all, Beloved made him swear to keep his hands above his waist. He tightens his fingers over Tim’s ribs. Perhaps there will be bruises to admire there later, but still, what a pity. Damian can’t even hold Tim straight to suck him properly. At least the wails the older man makes are divine.

And it’s been too long, that’s the excuse Tim gives himself because with the kittenish exploration and how Damian catches his cock in his mouth again just to hum contently is putting him on that edge that fast.

“Damian, pull back!” Tim finally reaches down to tug at Damian’s hair. “I’m close! You have to pull back or else you’ll choke!”

But what does his brat of a lover do? Hang on determinedly, takes Tim down his throat completely. His face buried into Tim’s groin as he swallows over and over and over until Tim is the one choking. The one moaning as he shakes apart and falls off that edge hard.

Damian is unable to catch every drop regrettably. Some spilling from his lips to paint the creases of Tim’s groin. Still, he is pleased with his first attempt of the matter and, well, he’s sure he will have (or create) more opportunities…to practice.

“You utter brat.” Tim pants, sagging bonelessly into the couch. Damian just smiles, leaning back on his heels to observe his lover smugly. The way Tim’s shirt only covers his forearms, framing the lovebites that really Damian must make more of, to the naked wet spent cock barely out of Tim’s pants.

Damian palms the front of his own need roughly. It’s almost painful to the touch. He bites back a hiss, he hadn’t even noticed it with his full attention on how addicting Tim could taste and sound. “Yet I’m your brat, am I not?”

“Always. But you have to let me do something, Dami.” Damian catches Timothy’s determined hands before it’s too late.

“Well…” The pause has Tim narrowing his eyes.

“What? What is it?” he demands.

Damian turns his head away from Tim and mumbles something indiscernible.

“Dami,” Tim warns.

“I wish for you to use your hands. Not on me…but on yourself.” And this is the person who just sucked his brains out. How dare he stumble on his words now with his ears slightly red. A blend of annoyance and sheer angry affection rushes through Tim. “I want to see you pleasure yourself, Beloved, very much so.”

The blush on Tim’s cheeks hurts but he’s going to take that hesitant tone and break it. So Damian wants a show? Fine, he’ll get a show. “Fine, if that’s what you need, _then don’t look away.”_

Tim falls flat on his back, and kicks off his pants and boxers. Then he leaves one leg hugging Damian’s side while the other lifts to hang on the back of the couch. It stretches him obscenely wide, causing his young lover to make a punched-out gasp.

It makes Tim feel so good. The twisted tortured expression painted on Robin’s face gives him the confidence he needs to continue.

“Good so far?” Tim sweeps his hands to his chest to frame the pretty picture.

“Breathtaking,” Damian whispers.

Tim rakes his nails down, arching at the sensation, especially when he catches a nipple along the way. He doesn’t bite back any sound for Dami.

Because Dami is just as loud, and he’s only watching. His gaze on his skin is addicting and Tim tries not to be so rough with his body, but Damian’s desperation is contagious.

“Lower, Beloved, lower,” he begs.

“Heh. You’ve always loved to tell me what to do, huh? Go figure, you’d do that when we have sex too.”

A strangled sob, because the line floods Damian’s mind with possibilities. “Please Timothy!”

“Shhhhhh, it’s okay. I’ll go as low as you want. Tell me what you want, Dami.”

“Everything.”

Tim smiles. “You already have that.” But Tim thinks he gets the gist of it and improvises.

He’s merciless on his nipples. Makes them bright red, pitches them, tugs them in stages as Damian’s eyes get bigger and bigger. Tim runs his fingers down, framing his cock, scratching his thighs until there’s trails Damian craves to follow with his tongue. He doesn’t play with his cock.

No, Damian deserves better than that.

Instead, he sucks his middle two fingers in his mouth, eyes narrow while Damian watches. When it’s enough, he trails the hand down his body, watching Dami’s eyes go dark, watches his throat bob as he swallows because he knows what’s going to be the next move. Tim, mentally giving himself all the props, slides his wet fingers down until the tips are rubbing over the entrance to his body, circling the tight ring. Dami’s mouth falls open with a groan, unconsciously leaning closer to watch.

Just the tip of his finger breaches his body, making Tim draw in a breath at the familiar feeling. His brain catching up with his body on how good it feels, how much he missed being touched and filled, stretched and opened.

“So beautiful, Tim,” is Dami, half-hoarse already, and he hasn’t even gotten a full finger inside yet. “This…this is—”

“What you wanted to see? Am I making you hard, Dami? Is it a good enough show to get you wet? I know I am.” And Tim can’t really believe he’s saying these things, but it falls right out of his mouth before he pushes the finger in up to the knuckle. His hips jut up, the leg around Dami tightening at the pressure and movement against his inner walls. The helpless moans aren’t coming from him, but damn if they don’t make him start to get hard again.

And it’s so strange to be the watched instead of being the voyeur, but Tim’s heart pounds loud in his ears. His blood boils as he sweeps his free hand up and down his chest, the sweat making the slide easier. He’s cruel to himself, putting another finger in, scissoring them to stretch his opening in an obscene fashion. He hopes Damian loves it. Hopes Damian chokes on the sight. He intentionally avoids his prostate until something jolts his arm, making him press directly on his spot.

_“Ah!”_ The cry is ripped from Tim’s mouth.

Right below him Damian thrusts into his hand desperately, they’re so close, their hands barely millimeters apart so that the action must have jostled Tim’s fingers deeper into himself.

“Again. Do that again, Beloved,” Damian growls out frantically. _“Please!”_

How can Tim refuse?

He gets serious. Teases, rubs and circles that place until Tim’s own face is wet with tears. Outside he scratches, squeezes his skin, pulls his own hair, bites his knuckles as inside he tortures himself with deliberate slow motions. “T-This is how— _ah_ —I want you to touch me.”

Damian shudders and his cock just drips.

“I want you to break me like this. Take me to that edge with a pace so slow, I’ll claw at your sides and make you bleed. Anything to get you to let me come. But you won’t, not until the only sound I can make is your name, Dami. O-oh, I wish these were your fingers, I want them, _I need them,_ they’re so big, so much thicker, so much better than mine.” Tim taunts reaching with his free hand to grab at one of Damian’s. _“I’d feel so full.”_

He tugs it to his face and kisses Damian’s palm before drawing a digit into his mouth, swallowing it hotly. Damian whines pressing his thumb against that tongue, holding it down, just feeding Timothy one finger after another and thrusting them in back and forth gently, mimicking exactly what he wishes he was doing.

“Do you feel good, Beloved?”

Tim laughs around his fingers  before pushing the hand down towards Damian’s need. The slide of his grip is now easier, slicker, making the friction unbearable. “Yes, I feel good, but do you want me to talk more? Or do you want us to come?”

“…Tell me more, Timothy,” Damian demands, but Tim can only compare it to begging. “I am so close, and yet wish us to last a moment longer. What do you want of me?”

“I want you to hold me down so I can’t get away. I want to ride you until we’re raw. I want you to fuck me against the wall after patrol…I want—”

“And when can I give you these things? **When?”** Damian surges up, stealing those words from his lips, each kiss growing harsher and more needy. Damian can barely push out the next question. _“When can I sate your need?”_

But Tim is too busy getting lost in the haze of that mouth to answer. Panting between reluctant breaks of that addicting taste, he keeps the pressure on the spot inside of him, the pleasure turning him mindless until he can barely remember his objective in the first place. He breaks away to keen straight into Damian’s ear, the arch of his body pushing him into the other’s chest he reaches his crest again and topples over it. _“D-Dami.”_

The twisted cry of his name, the utter proof of his lover’s pleasure, is all Damian needs to fall after him. With a groan he collapses on the older man, pinning him down as they both shake and shake from one aftershock to another. The wet mess between their stomachs is ignored, though Damian hunger still lingers, he will definitely see to ‘cleaning’ Timothy up. Damian licks his lips at the delicious notion.

But for now Damian tries to recall patience, his arms crushing his Beloved to him, his gaze drinking in that ruined, pretty face below him on the couch cushions. He peppers cheeks with kisses as they attempt to catch their breath, Tim’s eyes still fogged over from his last orgasm.

Beautiful. Incredible.

Damians almost wishes Timothy would never recover from this state.

He feels tired fingers weave into his hair, directing his kisses to where Tim prefers. Swallowing soft noises that echo down their throats as the two wind down.

And Damian can only ask silently with each pass of their lips, when…is _when?_

* * *

It came out of nowhere. The attack too sudden. So unexpected in their quiet bubble of contentment.

That’s Tim’s excuse.

It had been a slow morning, okay? Slow kisses to ease each other awake, staying in bed for an extra half hour just to enjoy the warm press of skin. Little fragments of intimacy with things like Damian pulling the shirt over Tim’s head or Tim passing him toothpaste in the bathroom. Or Damian’s _stupid_ soft smile when Tim slides his plate towards him. Because yes it is an awesome breakfast. Fresh fruit, toast and Tim has even mastered the microwave by now and can accomplish things _like bacon and eggs_ in the microwave. That’s right eggs. Eggs that Damian will eat and Alfred is beyond proud.

It’s the start of a mundrane, lazy day, how could Tim suspect anything after they finished cleaning the dishes?

It came out of nowhere.

Damian gets on one knee and something in Tim lurched. So Tim does the best thing in this circumstance.

He panics.

Badly.

“Timothy, my dearest Beloved,will you m—” Tim nerve strikes Damian before he finishes his question.

His expression mirrors Tim’s perfectly, shocked by his own actions, even as Tim carefully slides the young man to the floor. His hands shaking as they hesitantly leave his skin, his hair.

“I-I didn’t mean to do that.” Tim swallows, swallows again to clear his dry throat. Pushing out the words before the collapsed teen goes unconscious. _“God, I’m so sorry, Dami.”_

He needs to get out of there. Out of their apartment, out of their home. Away from that box and its ring that crashed to the floor mere feet away from them. The simple golden band rolls and hits the leg of a chair with a ping.

_He has to get out of there._

Tim picks up the ring, fumbles with it before shoving it in the box. Places it near Damian’s outstretched fingers. He needs to move, needs to leave now, but he can’t help but pull the throw off the couch to settle over Dami on his way out.

Neither can Tim stop himself from texting one message to his boyfriend of five years as he runs out their door.

_‘I need time.’_

Even though it’s a terrible thing, he goes to the Tower for some levity—and some advice from his best friend. The whole way to the Tower, letting the Batplane fly on auto-pilot, he paces and worries, checking the cameras in their apartment to make sure he didn’t do some real damage to his significant other in his blind panic. And because he’s Tim, his brain is doing mental calisthenics on the reasons behind the…the ring. Because obviously, Dami could do better, could be with someone younger, someone not in their crazy life, something that would actually ( ~~deserve~~ ) suit him.

_Kon, of all people, doesn’t seem to agree._

On the roof he stands in front of the flighty bird and says, “Okay, bro, repeat after me. Damian…”

“Damian.” Tim parrots, humoring the Super.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you. You’re incredible. You’re smart, wonderful and able to get me to eat semi-regularly and sleep for six hours sometimes. _Which is a freaking Gotham miracle.”_

Tim repeats the words. Well, why not? They’re true so far.

“It’s me.”

_“It’s me.”_ Gosh it really is, isn’t it?

“I have crushing self-worth issues…”

“I have crushing self-HEY!”

“I can’t believe it when a person says they want to commit to a healthy relationship with me.”

Tim smacks Kon on the arm.

Kon presses on, though Red is doing his best to make a bruise stick. “Even though we’ve been together for over five years, I still think you’re going to leave me.”

Tim stops his assault with a sharp inhalation. _(Because they always leave him, don’t they? He’s always the last one standing while everyone around him eventually dies.)_

“Because I don’t think I deserve you to stay.”

Tim actually opens his mouth, ready to parrot the words back, but they stick in his throat, almost choking him.

“But, Tim? I think the barely-legal brat deserves a chance to prove you wrong.” Kon takes Tim by the shoulders and shakes him a bit. As if he could shake common sense into the socially-stupid bird. “Because, yes, bird-boy, _sometimes even you Bats can be wrong.”_

“You don’t understand…He doesn’t, he deserves better—”

Tim’s interrupted by a cell phone going off somewhere on Kon’s person. The Super doesn’t even hesitate to answer it, just glances at the screen and puts it on speaker, while Tim’s eyes go wide with alarm (it’s actually really funny to Kon) over Damian’s voice on the other side.

“Superboy, what’s wrong with Beloved?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Red is just allergic to happiness- _oomph_.” Kon grunts in surprise. Apparently, Tim does actually have enough body weight to tackle the Super to the ground.

“Give me the phone, Kon!” Tim hisses, trying to grab the device frantically. _“You’re making it worse.”_

“Is that so?” Damian says bemused.

Kon keeps the phone just out of reach, holding Tim’s head away as the other vigilante snarls and claws at his arm. “Yeah, you must have done something, because he was almost hyperventilating from experiencing a feeling of _joy_ or something. Good going, dude.”

_“I was not!”_

“Oh really, Red? Then you explain what happened.” And Kon shoves the phone into Tim’s hands and almost laughs. Cross that, he does. A lot. It’s hard not to at how absolutely frozen Red becomes, Tim just cradling the phone in blind panic. Half because he wasn’t ready and half because Kon just tossed him under the bus and _he wasn’t ready._

_“B-Beloved?”_ The speaker cracks.

Tim takes a deep breath and gives Kon a begging look when the Super decides that’s the perfect time to just float away. Tim gestures to the phone wildly while Kon just gives a tiny wave and mouths,‘ _TALK_ _TO HIM’_ for goodbye. What an asshole. He’s never calling Kon his best friend ever again. One second becomes two and Tim finally manages a weak, cracked, “Hello, Damian.”

There’s a happy sigh on the other side. _“Beloved._ It’s so…good to hear your voice.”

Tim eyes grow hot. “Y-you too…I’ve missed you.”

High above, just out of sight Kon scans the horizon and mutters, “You guys are so gross. _It hasn’t even been 24 hours.”_

“And I, you. Terribly, achingly bereft without your company. Without your presence I fear I may be going mad yet—” He pauses hesitantly, “Have I given you enough time?”

“I-I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s going too fast.”

“Perhaps I was too hasty in my desires? Was there an error in my proposal?”

“No? Yes? Argh.” Tim pulls at his hair and paces. “I wasn’t expecting it to ever get this far?”

“You thought my intentions were _insincere_?” The words are stiff.

Tim frantically backtracks, “No! No, not insincere just I, of course, I knew you meant everything you said or did but—”

“But what, Timothy?” Damian pushes on.

“When it comes down to it, people _change_ ,” Tim says flatly. “No one wants something forever. People fall in and out of love every day, I never assumed that your feelings for me would stay the same.” He thinks of Kon and Cassie, Dick and Barbara, him and Steph…even when he thought it would last, that those relationships were perfect and they must be destined to be together, happy ending and everything…time showed otherwise.

Damian makes a tiny hurt sound and it stabs Tim through the heart. _“Timothy.”_

Tim grasps at straws, “I’m sorry.” Huh. It looks like that dumb role play with Kon was good for something after all. “It’s not you. I love you. You’re perfect, Dami. Darling. It’s…me.”

The breathing goes funny on the other side.

“Hey, do you remember when you were first courting me? And I called you out on it? I set out a cup of your favorite tea and you were…adorable. All fluffed up and defensive, ready for me to shut you down…” Tim trails off, remembering softly. “And you lit up so bright when I didn’t. I thought that your crush was the perfect chance for you to practice having a healthy relationship with someone. _God, someone in our family needs that._ You have the best shot for that. You just needed someone to try it out with and I was so surprised…and honored that you wanted me.”

“Have I gave any notion that my devotion has waned?”

“No, it hasn’t. _Go figure, you tenacious brat._ But I just—There’s something really wrong with me?” Tim laughs brokenly. He tries to stop it from turning into a sob, but he must have been only half successful. “I have issues, D-darling. Problems about this kind of thing. I’m…scared? You should—I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a sharp intake over the line. “…Jon, you must descend, get me down there _now._ ”

Ah. How frazzled, messed up, or overwhelmed must he be for that to slip his mind? Damian has a super sky uber too.

With a _clang_ , feet hit the roof, making Tim spin around and it’s like every one of those sappy, terrible romantic movies Dick shoved down his throat. Because there he is. Right there and damn it, Tim’s not ready.

_“Dami.”_

Damian steps out of Jon’s hold, nodding once in the Super’s direction but his eyes not moving once from his Timothy’s face.   

“Thank you, Jon. I’ll take it from here.”

“Of course, Bro. I’ll just be up, up, and _far_ away ‘kay.” A whoosh of air and they’re alone. Again.

Tim swallows anxiously, the only thing that eases the pounding of his heart a millimeter is how tense Damian’s shoulders are. Looks like Tim isn’t the only one consumed by nerves. Yay.

Damian approaches him slowly, like one does a scared, feral animal, Tim could joke, hiss, or snarl at the thought, but he appreciates the action too much. He feels cornered, trapped, but he’s not going to move. Not this time. Not until Damian wants him to. He takes a deep breath through his nose and waits. When only a few inches separate them, Damian reaches a hand up and runs the back of his fingers down Tim’s cheek.

“It is alright to be frightened, Beloved.”

Tim winces. Aw, fuck.

“Shhhh, it is,” Damian reassures him, cupping Tim’s face and presses their foreheads together. “After all, fear strikes me as well. Can we not be terrified of love together?”

“Pffft.” Tim gurgles. “I suppose. Mass-murdering fuckheads and aliens have nothing on this.”

Damian exhales, rubbing his nose to Tim’s. It’s freaking unfair how easy it is for Damian to change his mood. Calmer as they breathe together. Like everything is going to be alright, it’s not, it can’t, but it _feels_ like it will. Is that going to be enough?

“I’ve heard you out as much as I am able, Timothy. Will you do me the same courtesy?”

Tim gives a begrudging smile. “I can’t deny you anything, you brat.”

Damian ducks his head to peck Tim gently on the lips. “Your brat.”

“Damn right my brat,” Tim agrees.  

“Let me validate your feelings. It does not matter to me that you do not believe my love will last. Keep your doubts, your contingencies if they offer you any comfort.” Damian takes both of Tim’s hands before sinking to his knees again. One, to prevent any further instinctual nerve strikes and, two, to keep pressing kisses to Timothy’s open shaking fingertips. “But I have ruthlessly done all that I can to worm my way into your heart and plan to continue to do so without mercy. All I require from you is your permission to remain at your side. Please, Timothy, please allow me one day at a time to provide evidence of my claim..and the one you have so completely over my soul.”

He lets go of a hand momentarily to fish the damn ring from his pocket.

“Please, Timothy…will you do me the honor of placing this on my finger? Will you let me be yours?”

And now that Tim inspects the object closer, it’s different from the one he saw in their apartment. While his was mostly gold with a line of black, this one is bigger, black with a single thread of gold cutting through the middle.

“Where’s mine?”

Damian fumbles. “I-It is in my clothing as well, Timothy. But, for now, if it eases your mind, I do not mind being the only one to carry the implication of commitment. I would gladly wear the ring alone if you desire.”

Tim stares a moment or two. “…No.”

“N-No?” Damian crumbles. His heart shattered. No to the ring? Or does that mean Timothy does not wish for any sign of a deep connection? Or no—

**“No.”** Tim repeats dropping to his knees besides Damian. “We do this together or not at all. _Where’s my damn ring?_ I’ll put yours on…w-while you help me with mine.”

Damian pulls Tim into his body, swooping in to crash their lips together. He’s crying, but his Beloved’s eyes are not dry either. He happily mashes their faces until Tim pushes back for some space, their cheeks so red.

Tim snaps his fingers, taking the black ring from Damian. “My ring, D-Darling.”

Damian quickly obeys.“Of course, Beloved.” Not a moment to lose, as if this is a dream.

In unison they slip the rings on. Their breath catching as the light reflects off the metal.

It’s perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

…Or it would be.

A popcorn kernel hits Tim right in the ear. He flinches and the two jerk their heads up.

_Crunch._ “Kon, I don’t get it. Why do they have to be such drama queens?” says one person who’s up about hundred feet from them.

A noisy slurp and burp. “I don’t know, dude. _They’re Bats._ It’s either a Gotham thing where they don’t get enough light, light deficiency, _it’s a thing_ and they’re just too used to being sad. Or it’s a Wayne thing where if they get too happy they freak out and _break into hives._ ”

Slowly the two move their heads to glare at those whose lifespans just suddenly got much shorter.

“Darling?”

“Yes, my love.”

“I think I know what I want for an engagement present.”

“Consider it done, Beloved…. _consider it done.”_

The Supers prove the value of Superspeed right then and there.

But it will not save them.

It’s a Wayne engagement.

_It’s a bat-clan engagement._ They are the night. They are justice. And they. Are. **Vengeance.**


	5. Wedding Bells and Lacy Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fated day and night this couple has been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...um...okay. So this chapter consists of eight pages of the most fluffy, adorable wedding with enough sap to CHOKE on and more eight pages...of sexy wedding smut. 
> 
> So tread lightly I guess? Like I labelled the parts so you can take your cake and eat it. If you only want the sweet cheesy wedding then stick to the first part, "Wedding Bells," but if you want to go on then continue to the section called, "Lacy nights" it's pretty much...all porn.

Wedding Bells

All Tim had ever wanted was a small wedding. A simple, quiet service where only a few people were invited. Maybe even having the ceremony itself in a local government office where all they have to do is fill out the paperwork. That’s it. That’s all Tim really wanted.

_He did not get that._

“Why didn’t we just elope?” Tim whines piteously into Damian’s shoulder.

Damian rubs Tim’s back soothingly. “Because, Beloved, _there’s nowhere for us to run._ Also Alfred would be most disappointed.”

In the background, Dick screams. “I NEED MORE RIBBONS. I NEED THEM THERE AND THERE AND **THERE**.”

Tim just quietly sobs and Damian pulls him further into his embrace for comfort. _“I hate this.”_

“I know, my love, I know.”

At least Tim used everything in his blackmail arsenal so only two events would take place and _not plural ones._ A wedding reception party in Gotham for all well-wishers of the high class and elite...and one nightmare of a ceremony for the superhero community. That includes the very much interested and horrible side of Damian’s family.

There are too many ninjas in the rafters.

Tim looks up to glare at them lurking from above from time to time as Damian parades him around the room to have the final say on decorations and the like. Even though he doesn’t care. And he knows Damian doesn’t either, dammit.

“This is true,” Damian admits, adjusting the cream tablecloth. “... _But they do_ and if we are to survive this last bitter trial to the end, you must give your input.”

“Son-in-law, which floral design is better? The victorian spread or shall we go with the more exotic blend?” Talia sharply asks.

“Victorian,” Tim tries. “They’ll...uh, go better with the drapes.”  

Her eyes flash. “Good choice.” And the dangerous woman struts away to command the help staff.

There is no team more frightening, no one more devoted than the likes of Dick, Talia and…

“Ah Master Timothy, Master Damian, there you are. It’s time for your final fitting.”

_Alfred._

Tim whimpers and Damian squeezes his hand. “Tomorrow, Timothy. The wedding is tomorrow. We have managed alien invasions, sick murder puzzles, and twisted games with even my grandfather. We must endure, _we are so close.”_

“I don’t think I can make it, Dami.”

“You must, Beloved. _You must.”_

“Hold still, Master Timothy. And, Master Damian, you must leave the fitting room immediately. To see each other’s outfit is considered unlucky. That will not do.” There is no room for disagreement. Damian eyes dart to Tim and he kisses his wrist desperately.

“Remember, Timothy, endure.” And with that his fiancé abandons him to his fate.

Tim did not cry, he swears he didn’t, but when the door shuts Alfred hands him a handkerchief. “Now, now, try not to get the fabric too wet, Master Timothy.”

_Tim has never felt so betrayed and alone._

* * *

 He’s got to hand it to Talia and Dick–

The place looks _amazing_.

The decorations along the beach are simple, but full of class. Tiny signs here and there to show wealth and that yes, this is a Wayne not a Bat event.

There’s flowers everywhere, flooding tables with pleasant centerpieces and the finest of foods. But the only thing Tim is looking at is the altar placed right before the sea, the horizon long and filled with endless beauty.

With his heart in his throat and the abrupt realization in his chest, Tim’s eyes get a little wet when he realizes it’s finally here.

 _Their day_.

He hasn’t seen Dami all night in keeping with tradition and it’s strange how little he slept (not because of a case _for once_ ), but all because he’d become too used to that big body sprawled all over him that to _not_ have it there.

(is something terrible)

But when morning dawns and he can finally roll out of bed at his assigned room on the island, which is literally half an island away from Damian, he gets a text bright and early:

_I could not sleep, I am lonely without you._

Even before coffee, Tim idly texts back, _Me too, I slept like ass. Guess I got used to someone drowning me in drool_.

A pause while Tim yawns and stands, moves to the bathroom with epic bedhead going down.

_I have waited a lifetime for this day, Beloved._

He smiles around his toothbrush, eyes getting soft, _no matter what, it’s ours. I’ll meet you at the altar, Husband-to-be_.

Just because he knows how _that_ will affect his lover.

_I wait with baited breath, Beloved mine._

* * *

 Kon is there to keep him from jumping out the window.

Or to haul him back in if he _does_. That’s what the Best Man is supposed to do, right?

Steph, Kon, and Bart are literally fussing. It’s not as bad as if it were Dick, but really, why would he do something like that to _himself_? These three are bad enough.

“Just like that,” Steph meticulously straightens out his lapels. Again. For the tenth time. “ _Perfect_. He’s going to _die_ when he sees you, Tim. I think you’ve got the brat’s number.”

“You know we’ve been together for years now,” Tim takes in a deep breath, bends his knees so Bart can put the flower crown on top his head and adjust it minutely through his way-too-long hair. Kon helps him out a little and lifts the speedster up, hovering high enough to make sure the thing isn’t going to fall off.

“Have...have you seen him at all this morning?” Tim’s eyes move in the mirror, go over his shoulder to Steph while Bart pokes his tongue out to make sure everything is just right. “How did he look?”

The wide smile she gives back makes the fluttering low in his stomach ease up a bit. “He looked like a man about to get married to the love of his _life_ , Tim. Calm down. He’s not going to get cold feet at the last minute and leave you standing at the altar.”

“That’s not—!”

But really, it kind of _is_.

Kon floats back down with Bart, his two other best friends flanking him on either side in the wide mirror, the three of them standing firm, just like when they’re Titans. He gets a hand to either shoulder while they look at him fondly.

“You’re such a dingus, Tim,” Kon’s mouth quirks up, “anyone can see that guy is going to happily trap you in the restraints of matrimony for the rest of your natural lives.”

“I think it’s ‘bonds,’ Kon.”

“Semantics,” the super grins even _wider_.

“Totally, man. That guy is going to be your ball and chain whether you like it or not. It’s pretty good of you to just give in because it’s a fight you’re never going to win.”

“This is why I love you guys,” he deadpans while he turns on a polished heel, faces them fully dressed and ready to face the proverbial music.

“So...how do I look?”

The suit is cut amazingly to his figure, defining his shoulders, a red rose in his lapel, and the flower crown adding to the colors they’d chosen for the great hall.

And he doesn’t imagine Steph’s eyes are wet when she just says, “Oh, to _hell_ with it,” and jumps up to fling her arms around him.

“I’m so _proud_ of you, Tim, so happy. You deserve this. You deserve to be with him.”

And yeah, that’s Bart breaking just a _little_ , wiping at his leaking eyes, and nodding in absolute agreement.

Kon, however, sucks in a breath and blinks until he’s got his shit together (because he loves Tim like a brother, always has, and it just as much an honor for him to be the Best Man as it is for Tim), and joins the hug, wrapping his long arms around them both to lift them up a little.

“Dude, you? Look hot as _fuck_. He’s not going to look anywhere else for the rest of his _life_.”

Bart throws himself into the impromptu group hug without a hitch, his eyes red, but laughing like an idiot, “If he knows what’s good for him, he sure as heck won’t!”

* * *

Damian, however, is adjusting his cuffs, fiddling with the cuff links while Jon holds his flower crown in both hands and watches his best friend do something completely and undeniably outside his normal.

 _Fidget_.

Damian Wayne doesn’t fidget.

Yet, here they are.

Colin, however, smooths both palms over Damian’s broad shoulders, picking invisible lint off the black suit, adjusts the white rose in his lapel, gives Damian something else to do while the clock ticks down.

Dick, breathless with a high pink in his cheeks opens the door to let himself in.

“Sorry, Baby Bat! Last minute thing with the flowers, but we’re all set to go.”

The three turn to the oldest Robin, and Dick _knows_ , can see it from across the room.

It’s probably one of the few times Damian’s not fought _the octopus hold_. Instead, Dick’s Robin grips his suit jacket in both hands and lets out a long breath.

“Richard...is he—?”

“Still there, Dami,” the oldest of the Bat sons soothes, “No jumping out of windows, no fighting crime on the side. He’s ready to marry you, Baby Bat, no worries.” And Dick grins at his Robin, wide and white, “He looks very handsome for you, you know. Good job getting him in a tux for something other than those stupid galas.”

Damian laughs a little, his eyes getting wet, gives Grayson a pat on the shoulder before pulling back.

“You’re worrying over nothing,” Jon raises a hand to his shoulder while Colin does the same on his other side so all three of his best friends are holding him, grounding him.

“Yeah, Tim might be a little nuts, but he’s nuts over _you_ ,” Colin grins unabashed. “He has a spreadsheet laid out and everything.”

Dami sighs, “I have told you again and again to stop attempting to hack his servers.”

“Nope. Never going to happen! Besides, if he’s marrying one of my best friends, I need to make sure I have no reason to transform and kill him.”

It’s much too cheery, but Damian can forgive him. This one time.

“Do not blame me when your favorite snacks vanish from the Tower. He is beautiful and vindictive.”

“That just makes him all the more suited,” Jon fills in dryly, “you Bats are too weird sometimes.”

“Hey!” Dick gives an affronted growl, “we’re _the best_ , so Dami is definitely marrying the right guy. No worries, Baby Bat, not today. This? This is going to be the best day of your life and we are going to make _sure_ of it.”

And the youngest Robin blinks rapidly, grips his best friends tightly, “with all of you at my side, I have not doubt it shall be.”

* * *

 “All good so far, B,” Hal reports over comms as half of the Justice League patrols the island, just to make sure no supervillains are lurking to try to break up the happy little wedding. No one’s messing up this. Or else.

Bruce taps the comm twice, “Alfred?”

“I am in position, Sir.”

Idly, Bruce glances around the island’s tropic outdoors, wondering if he could spot his oldest friend waiting with a rifle (because you should _always_ have a plan). Knowing, Alfred, however, he’s not going to be detectable even by Superman.

“Good. Keep me informed,” Bruce taps the comm in his ear and turns to Talia while he adjusts his tie.

The guests are gathered, talking softly among themselves and the musicians are waiting for the right moment.

“Shall we?” Bruce offers Talia his arm to escort her to the back where they would part ways and walk their sons down the aisle.

The face Talia makes might even be considered a smile as she slides a hand through Bruce offered arm, walking with him on this, the day of her son’s wedding. She merely raises a brow at the ninjas stationed at all the exits and up in the rafters. They would be just as watchful as the heroes. Because _nothing_ would ruin this day.

Nothing that would _live_ to gloat about it.

* * *

The music starts up softly, permeating the idle chitchat from the gathered family and friends. It swirls around as the back doors open and Damian Wayne with his mother, Talia al Ghul step out in sync to walk past the awed crowd, watching their progression.

Before she leaves her son to be wed, Talia breaks her usual icy demeanor and lifts an arm to hug her only child, whispering something in his ear away from others.

 _“I am so proud for you, my son. Live this happiness_. _”_

When she steps away, the back doors open yet again, and Damian catches his breath. His mouth falls gently open, his eyes go soft with fondness and warmth. “Yes...Mother.”

Bruce and Tim stand for just a moment before they move, giving Tim the moment he needs to meet Damian’s eyes from across the room.

It’s like time stops just for them.

The color rises perfectly pink on Tim’s cheeks when he sees the cut figure waiting for him, flanked by Dick, Colin, and Jon. His breath locks in his throat, his heart pounding, his future husband a vision of perfection.

When Bruce nudges him, a playful smile, he finally remembers to move again, to breath, to walk in sync where Kon, Bart, and Steph are smiling at him widely, where Jason Todd ( _yes,_ **_that_** _Jason Todd_ ) is waiting with a shit-eating grin on his face to perform the ceremony that will bind them together.

But even with all his family and friends gathered, even with Cassie making cat-calls from the side, he can’t look away from Damian’s jade eyes, can’t help the stupid smile on his face, or the grip he’s got on Bruce’s elbow.

Bruce gives him a tight hug before leaving him to stand there, turns and takes his turn hugging Damian as well. He tell both his sons the same thing:

 _“I’m so proud of you both, so proud. Be happy. Be good to each other and be happy. You’ve both earned it_. _”_

* * *

“Dearly beloved, we’re here to finally, _finally_ get these two pieces of shit together.” Dick, who was positioned next to Jason for this very reason, slams an elbow into his side. _“Oomph,_ okay, _fuck,_ you don’t have to hit me that hard, can’t a guy have some fun?” Jason mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Dick glares from the corner of his eye. “...No. If you ruin this after the _hours_ I spend to make this absolutely perfect. I Will. End. You.”

“Fine. Be a killjoy.”

_“Jason.”_

Jason coughs and glances at the two grooms that haven’t even noticed the exchange that took place. The two absolutely mesmerized by each other has Jason’s eyes soften as they schools his face into something more serious.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this wedding, this ceremony ain’t a symbol for the start of something new. Not with these two. Instead it’s a celebration of what’s already there, what’s already in place for a one Timothy Jackson Drake and Damian Al Ghul Wayne. In fact many elements or duties I’m supposed to perform as legal officiant are bullshit.”

Dick gets his elbow ready.

Jason hurries on. “For example, I don’t have to tell ya to cherish and provide for each other in sickness and health. Dami owned that shit since he was _thirteen_. I don’t need to explain yer duty to make each other’s burdens light when all you gotta do to make these Bats smile is get them in the same damn room.”

He takes a second to gesture at the couple and the whole place chuckles...especially at how Damian and Tim are barely reacting to the words falling out of Jason’s mouth. Tim is too distracted with how warm Damian’s fingers are as they rub his knuckles carefully. As if Tim is the most precious thing in the all the universe. Meanwhile Damian cannot stop, cannot help but stare at those plush lips and the flecks of deep purple in Timothy’s eyes.  

“And what’s the point of asking if anyone objects? These two vigilantes are some of the best in the business, yeah? Why they’d pulverize any sorry sucker that dares open their mouth to try. Because they’ve waited so long, _we’ve waited so long,_ so it’s time to end this courtship.”

Jason reaches over and pats the couple’s joint hands as a signal, "It’s time to me to shut my gob and let the spotlight shine on the main attraction. _The couple has written their own vows."_

"Timothy Jackson Drake," Dami begins softly, gently, "in the beginning, I was never to know you would be my undoing. I could never have guessed how it would come to be that I could barely breathe without you by my side."

And Tim's eyes have never been so wet. Damian keeps brushing the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. His face barely an inch from Tim’s, his words almost falling out of his mouth into his.

"And as it stands, I would trade none of it, I would give none of it away. All of our trials, all of our failures and victories have brought us here. All of this has given me the most precious thing I never knew I would desire."

Dami just lifts his hands, tilts Tim's chin up while their family watches and Dick wails in the background.

"This world we live in, the darkness that threatens us at every turn, is only bearable because you are my light, my redemption. I have never known the joy you bring me simply by being. I...I have never known I could possess such love for any one being."

"As long as you honor me, I will stand with you always, my love, until death takes me from your arms, I will stand with you always. This is my vow."

"D-Dami," and Tim clears his throat, stares up into those green eyes, and his heart beats harder, blinking rapidly because he’s tearing up like mad. A few drops in the corners of his eyes already escaping down his face. "I...I've always lived by logic. Always, a-alway tried to break a puzzle with the best answers, following the clues until I find the right way. And...and you, you are the one thing in my life that isn't an answer. You...you’re my heart’s answer, you don’t follow any reasonable path because I’m so in love with you, it breaks everything. I couldn’t function without you, I can’t...I can’t be in a world without you. There's no one else for me, no one I want to be mine, no one else I can belong to...no one but you. A-and I will work the rest of my life to be the man you can be proud to call yours. I’ll work the rest of my life to _deserve_ to have you with me.” (And now Dami’s all crying too because for Tim that’s a lot, _Dami’s beyond his logical mind_ )

“And I promise, Dami, I _swear_ , once you say yes, once you promise to keep me...I’ll never let you go.”

Damian wipes the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs, his mouth opening and shutting, wishing to say something but he’s too touched, too moved. Such feelings cause such sweet ache. Tim carefully reaches to brush under his fiance’s eyelids, the lashes fluttering as the emotion takes them both.   

Jason cracks a smile. A real one. It’s small, barely there but damn sincere, because under it all? Happiness like this? The stuff you hear in fucking fairy tales happening for the two pains in his left nut that wormed their way in his heart and made him _care_ ? You know he’s all over that shit. He clears his throat once or twice so Dickie doesn’t make fun of _him_ being emotional, the bloody, filthy hypocrite.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, do you take this former assassin nightmare as your beloved husband?”

“I do.” Is said in wonder, the space narrowing between them. Their foreheads touch briefly and they breathe as one as Jason says the next line.

“And do you, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, take this caffeine-ridden control freak as your partner for life?”

_“For now and for always.”_

“Then you may exchange the rings.”

Damian turns to Jon and somehow doesn’t fumble taking the small gold thing in his hand. He carefully slips on the ring on those delicate fingers and presses them to his lips gently, “With this ring I do thee wed. With my body I give thee honour and all my worldly goods, all that I possess with thee I share.”

Tim moves to cup the side of Damian’s face lovingly and Kon has to cough a couple times to spur him into action. (Kon is a good best man after all) Tim holds his palm out behind him without breaking his gaze. Kon longsufferingly places the ring on it simply for Tim to claim Dami as his own.

“With this ring I thee wed; with my mind and heart I give thee all. Every hour, day and year may I with thee share.”

“It is said ‘two are better than one; they receive a good reward for their toil, because, if one fails, the other can help the companion up again.’ You two are officially stuck together for eternity, so with the power invested in me, I now pronounce you— _Hey I didn’t even say—“_

But it’s like keeping two magnets away, impossible. The two haven’t kissed in hours, so it’s far too late for them to wait for that statement. It’s a innocent thing, their lips softly pressing as Damian tilts his Beloved’s, his husband’s jaw in absolute bliss.

 _“Oh fine._ Go on you two, kiss your husband for life again.”

The background is thunderous in applause and cheers, but Tim and Damian can’t hear a thing. Tim can only hold on to those broad shoulders and cry some more.

He can’t believe he can be this happy.

Yet at least his eyes aren’t the only ones wet, the newlyweds kiss and kiss each tear drop away, holding each other tenderly...even the mob descends.

In fact? No eye is dry at all.

* * *

Lacy Nights

It’s when they’re alone that they start to have real problems. When they’ve shooed everyone off the Island after the crazy reception. Everyone had to give a speech...everyone. Plus just getting people to leave was hard. (It took hours. They found Dick hiding in a linen closet and _evicted_ him promptly three times). They swept the entire place for bugs from several sources, _really Ra’s...really?_  But now their focus is single minded. Nothing left to distract them from the mantra of _‘Oh my god, he’s mine, he’s really mine’_ or how much is now available for them to _have_. Their room barely glows with the lighting of the moon but they don’t need much to see how hard their hands shake or the fact that the other has way too many clothes on.

“Habibi. No, _husband,”_ Damian presses the title through his lips, practically coos it into his beloved’s face. The word falls out beyond smooth and Timothy’s eyes grow lovely and dark.

“Yes, _husband_?” Oh. This is going to be fun. His jacket hits the floor and though Damian ripped most of his clothes off already, only standing in his underwear now, and wow...just wow look at how Dami’s grown. The young man is just adamant of undressing Tim like a present. Well...Tim hopes it’s a good one. He stands there bemused while Damian relieves him of his flower crown, setting it carefully on the bedside table (because Damian intends to dry them, keep them as sacred memories of this day). Then he watches, waiting in anxious anticipation as Damian unbuttons his shirt at a quick pace and _freezes_. His breathing stuttering to a halt.

_“What is this, Dearest?”_

The shirt falls off Tim’s shoulders to the ground. Mindfully he trails his fingers quickly here and there to let the pants drop as well. As Tim steps out of them gingerly, Damian’s eyes just grow wider and wider.

Because unlike Damian...it’s not a pair of boxers.

“Do you like it?” Tim attempts a cheeky flare, but a hesitant tone still bleeds through. It was his stupid wedding party’s idea. He wants to blame Kon, but it so could have been Steph ( _“You need to_ **_wow_ ** _him, Tim. Don’t worry, I’ll figure out something.”_ ) or Bart. He doesn’t put it past them when he started unfolding the pile of clothes to put on...and found this on top of them. But can he really point fingers? After all, they’re not the ones that talked him into wearing it. No. Tim did that all on his own, damn it. What if–

Damian makes a strangled noise and moves to get his hands on Timothy. His eyes jumping from place to place taking it all in. His hands are trembling, reaching up to feel, to touch. He threads his fingers underneath the few of the damn ribbons lacing across his lover’s pale skin and the satiny lace. So reverent about it, fingers trailing over the white pattern over the top of Tim’s shoulders to his ribs. Only a criss-cross there has the chest mostly bare and defenseless while below...a pair of soft panties barely hides his lover from view.

"Beautiful," he breathes in awe, "Beloved Husband, you are so very beautiful. I do not deserve to touch perfection such as this, but at the same time, I cannot help myself." His voice is shaky and hoarse, "Tim, let me... let me touch you in this."

Tim sniggers, gesturing to himself and the hands _that aren’t his_ sweeping over his front, “But you are touching me. What isn’t this enough of an invitation for you? What more do you want from me? Damian touch me!”

It’s like messing with a live wire, sparks between them that strike and hiss as years of sexual repression are torn open. Damian hauls Tim by the arm against him, both hands going straight for below the belt. He has to cup, squeeze handfuls of Tim’s backside now that he won’t be continually be scolded for it. _He’s finally allowed now._

Tim would laugh some more, but he’s too busy kissing Damian like he’s trying to climb in his mouth and live there. He’s not a saint...and Damian’s not the only one who’s waited.

“Figures you’d go straight for my ass.” Tim gasps as Damian brings their hips together using his grip on the back. There’s only two layers between them and Tim has to bite his lips to suppress a whine as Damian basically rubs them together through their clothes. Damn that feels good.

Damian gropes and spreads Tim’s lower cheeks unashamed, the underwear slipping to one side. “How can you blame me? I’ve wanted to worship it for years and now I can do whatever I please with it.”

“Pervert,” Tim teases, but hops a little to climb Damian like a tree. His legs coming around Damian’s hips so he can get the leverage he needs to eat Damian’s lips. It’s the only time he can flip the height difference between them and it’s rapidly becoming his favorite position when they kiss. “Take me to bed.”

Damian’s eyes darken, “As you wish, Beloved.” He half carries Tim to the bed, would throw him onto it gladly, but then his brow furrows.  

Tim peppers kisses over it, trying to wipe the expression away. “What’s up with that face? What’s wrong?”

Damian stares up at his husband and bites his lip. That won’t do, that’s Tim’s official job thanks. He presses his forehead against his and wonders at the small tremor he still finds wracking Damian’s body.

“Forgive me, it’s just that I’ve wanted so much for so long...and I have no idea, I can’t decide at  where to start. I have no inkling how to begin. Timothy _, Tim, I don’t know what to do.”_

“Shhhhhh, it’s okay. We can do anything, we have all the time we need.”

“I know and yet–”

“Maybe we should come once,” Tim murmurs, his lips moving over Dami’s. “Just to take the edge off, just so we can calm down a little. Come on, Baby. Don’t you want to see me come?”

Damian barely swallows down the sound of dying cat.

His fingers going frantic on Timothy’s skin making bruises that Tim loves.

“I’ll let you ruin my underwear,” Tim hotly whispers and the panties don’t even last a second. They hit the ground a ripped mess and Tim decides to run the show for a while. “Well that didn’t take long, huh? Sit on the bed for me, darling.”

Dumbly, obediently Damian does.

The position has Tim straddling him comfortably and Tim smiles, running his fingers down Damian’s arms to his wrists. He tugs at them lightly, “Let go, Dami,” he orders when he meets some resistance.

“But I love this part of you so much. I do not wish to relinquish it.” He squeezes his hands to illustrate. Tim would suppress a moan, but why bother? He lets it slip out and watches Damian react to the way he sounds. Like this Tim can feel Damian grow hard against him, but it isn’t enough. He wants more.

He tugs again at Damian’s arms, “Yeah, but don’t you want to explore other parts of me too?” Tim changes tactics, bringing his hands to frame his chest, his nipples only to slide them down, down through his abs to where it’s painful and wanting. “Don’t you think here needs some attention too? Or have you forgotten about it?”

“I would never forget any part of you.” Damian’s eyes roam greedily. To perfect pink nipples that beg for his tongue, or the pretty cock that desperately needs his touch. “Of course I should accustom myself to your front as well as the back.”

“Yes, you should.” He cups Damian through his boxers, snapping the waistband down a hip, “Before you get too distracted.”

“Oh? How so– _ah!”_

Slender fingers pull him from his boxers and make him whine. Tim grins as he teases and plays until his victim claws at Tim’s front to return the favor.

“You’re so big. I always forget how big you are.” He runs a nail over the top of that cock and down its side, Dami’s uncut and _thick_. Absentmindedly he jerks when Damian starts thumbing his nipples. “How on earth are you going to fit?”

“You are simply too small, everything seems big to you.” He worries the nubs until they peak and leans in to kiss one of the them.

“I’m not too small!”

“I beg to differ,” Damian argues, cutting off Tim by finally wrapping his hand around his dick to get an honest mewl from the man. “Look at this tiny thing.”

_“I’m not tiny!”_

“I could swallow the whole thing in my mouth and not choke.” He tugs, stops for a moment to bring his palm to his mouth to lick. That way when he brings his hand down, it’s so much more slick. “But do not fear, I find your size marvelous and absolutely adorable.”

“Y-You! I’ll show you– _ah, right there_ –adorable,” Tim indignantly hisses. He sets a rough pace, making sure Damian shudders and groans alongside him.

“But you are adorable...look at how you fit so perfectly in my lap, Habibi...and in my hand.” Damian knocks Tim’s hand away, just to squeeze their cocks together to illustrate. Tim’s mouth falling open to gasp so loud. He rakes nails down those broad shoulders to keep himself from falling apart. It’s futile, they’re already so high strung, but wouldn’t be nice to come together?  

He stretches up to bite Damian high on the throat, just sink his teeth nice and deep and the blurred edge of pain/pleasure causes Dami to fall.

But his tightening, twisting hand ensures that he does not fall alone.

Tim’s wail is muffled by neck as the two paint their fronts in thick seed, his teeth letting up to kiss and lick in apology. “...Sorry,” he hoarsely whispers.

“I do not mind,” Damian offers. The mark stings delightfully. It will not be covered. In fact, any wound Tim gives him in passion will probably be displayed in some way. The idea of a visual claim is very appealing. Hopefully, Tim echoes the sentiment. “I do not mind at all.”

“You feel better?” Tim sags into his embrace with the question. His arms going loose around Damian’s neck.

“Only just barely...you are so lovely when you come.” He wants to see it again and again. Yet it’s true that the frantic pulse of his heart has slowed minutely. The fire of his desire tempered with the concept that he can have and will have it all...eventually.

“Good.” Tim trails a hand between them, collecting, and offers Damian his fingers. “Now we can take our time.”

Damian leaves no finger unclean.

Just lets Tim feed them their release, his Beloved swooping in to taste it from his mouth from time to time until there’s none left on their skin to offer. They doubt it will stay that way.

Damian eases Tim down on his back, the sheets rustling as their exploration becomes easy and kind. He peels the soaked ribbon off Timothy’s frame, watching the garment slip from his skin with muted heat.

“I appreciated this thing, Dearest. The color suited you well.”

A chuckle in the dark, their only light the illumination of the moon outside, “I’m glad. I hoped you would like it.”

“I shall buy you five more once you provide me the merchant of such wear.”

“Pfffft. I don’t think we need that many, Dami.”

“Yes we do.”

They linger on small discoveries. The sinew of each muscle, the give in some places, finding each rib deserves its own kiss. Damian is enamoured by the mole on Tim’s hip and worships it with lips while Timothy plays with his hair, scratching his skull in a way that makes him wish to rest and purr. But his desire is strong, and there are other places for his mouth to worship.

It’s movement and appreciation, it’s laughter and moans intermixed because _dammit_ , that spot on Tim’s ribs and the place on Dami’s shoulder. It’s finding out what makes each other _strain_ and pant with long-awaited _wants_.

It becomes scrabbling fingers and thrusting hips, it becomes harder and needier, Tim’s thighs tightening and Dami rolling his hips to work their straining erections together.

It’s capturing those _noises_ and swallowing them down.

When “ _Habibi_ ” is panted against his throat and fingers finally, _finally_ work to the entrance of his body, making Tim arch into him, whine into his mouth.

“Lube, we n-need lube.” Tim weakly pushes at Damian to stretch towards the bedside table. If there isn’t slick in one of those drawers, Tim will be both surprised and deeply disappointed in the people he knows.

He finds himself disappointed for a whole different reason.

Together husband and husband stare stunned at the drawer.

“I admit…” Damian says haltingly, “Out of all the difficulties and tasks I expected to confront tonight, I did not think choosing from a large rainbow assortment of products would be one of them.”

 _“Oh my gosh, no one needs this much fucking lube!”_ Tim says half in anger, half exasperated. “We’re here only for a week, _not ten years!”_

“Perhaps they thought we would be overly ambitious?” There’s bottles of all shapes and sizes, as if half of the vigilante community made sure to show that they supported the couple in this very _unnecessary_ way. Tim’s face goes red at the implication. At the kinds that are ‘self-warming’ or promise a slick slide with a hint of aphrodisiac, there’s one topped with a clay dragon looking ancient that Tim is _definitely_ going to throw at the wall the moment Damian lets him up.

“I’m gonna kill them. I’m gonna kill every last one of them.”

“Habibi, father’s rule, remember?”

“Don’t bring your father into this, Dami. Especially not here in the bedroom with me. But fine. I’ll just make them suffer _excruciatingly_.”

“I have every belief that you will.” Damian closes his eyes and picks a container at random. He then cracks it open to let its juices run over his hands and drip to Tim’s gorgeous skin below. He longs to return Tim to that desperate state between want and lost to lust. The texture of this is just what they need. He sweeps his hands in a liquid slide to pinch at those neglected nipples sending Tim back under that haze of pleasure.  

Finally he trails his fingers to trace the rim, biting down on his lip at the beauty of Tim’s body opening for him, of what is _his_ , what Tim is giving him so _willingly_.

He’s gentle at first, making small noises deep in his chest, watching breathlessly as his Husband’s body accepts him, takes him _in_.

Warm and soft and _everything_ he’s imagined, he’s waited patiently for, he’s _fought_ for. And the beauty of it, the wonder, makes the ache in Dami’s chest ease, makes him finally seem to _calm_. He turns up warm eyes to the writhing former Robin, leaning in to press his mouth desperately to the curve of Tim’s throat.

And fingers in his hair, Tim turning him a little, just enough to pant against his ear, _“I knew I’d love your fingers.”_

“My fingers love you just as well.” Hypnotized, he thrusts one in and out, amazed with how tight and already so wet they’re made his lover already.

Tim breath hitches as Damian accidentally brushed the digit across his prostate. “H-Husband?”

Noticing the change, his actions become laser-focused. “Here? Is this where you need it the most?” He digs at the slight bump, pressing one arm across those hips when they jerk up without Beloved’s consent.

Muscles tighten down and Tim sees stars for a few important seconds. He tries to nod and put a shakily smile on his face, as if it’s no big deal that he found his spot under a minute and a half. “I should have known—ah—how quickly you’d find it. O-Overachiever.”

“I do like being good to you.” Damian says absentmindedly, using the pad of his finger to press on that spot just to see Timothy arch back and gasp brokenly. It’s mesmerizing, makes him coax in a second finger immediately.

He opens Tim up _slow_ , takes his _time_ even if his Beloved is quickly becoming completely _wrecked_ under him. Biting into his lip and utter soft, kitten mews as his body opens so beautifully, the dark pink darkens down his throat and chest each time the rhythm speeds up, each time Dami gets deeper, hits that spot teasingly. He sucks more marks, mouths gently against proof of _his_.

It’s only after he’s worked in another finger, hard enough to burst, that Tim starts to get somewhat lucid, enough that he can push at Dami’s shoulder.

“Let me up, I wanna–” Tim struggles to catch his breath, “I _need_ to ride you.”

“But I am _enjoying_ this so much, Beloved,” Dami purrs against a tight nub, tongue peeking out to give the poor abused flesh more torture.

“I-I _swear_ , if you don’t—oh, _oh_ , _oh my God there...there_!”

“Mmm, you were saying?”

“I-I can’t believe I’m- _married_ you!”

“Ah, ah, ah. Until death do we _part_.” And _yes_ , Tim can feel him _smirking_ before he takes the nub between his lips and _sucks_.

“Dami... _Dami!_ ” because the two points of pleasure are making him utterly _insane_.

When his husband pointedly _laughs_ at him, Tim decides _enough is enough_.

In a move worthy of Red Robin, Tim manages to hook an ankle behind Dami’s thigh and get a hand down to grip the wrist to hold his husband still to work his hips up, work the fingers out of his body, to be so _empty._

Before Dami can catch a breath, Tim’s throwing them over, hips working to make them both _oomph_ on reorientation.

It just puts Dami at the perfect angle, thick and hard and _oh so ready_ , the tip sliding over the seam of Tim’s ass, so close, _so close_ to where he _needs_.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he pants, staring down at those jade eyes blown wide and dark. His knees firm, weight balanced on his thighs to control the motion, and he reaches down to fist the base of Dami’s erection, hold him in the right place. “I...I need you.”

Groaning at the warm tugs, of Tim palming him, Dami strains to lean up, fits his palms right in the niche of Tim’s hips to hold on, thumbs making idle circles against the sweet curve of bone. “Husband mine, if you want me, _take me_. I am yours.” And even if he says it low and broken in his mother tongue, whispering it like a promise as much as a prayer, Tim still leans down to press their mouths together for a sweet, soft kiss.

“And I’m yours back.” Tim returns, the Arabic heavy as the words catch in his throat. _He swears if he cries here–_

“There is no other for me,” and it is so soft but firm, “only you. I will have no other, give myself to no other.”

 _Yup_ , _he’s tearing up. Too late dammit_.

 _“I love you_.” Tim says back with a rasp, giving a few more strokes, shifting his hips until the tip of Dami’s cock is catching on his stretched, wet entrance. “I love you and I’m so glad you’re mine and I’m yours.”

He gives his husband another kiss, distracting them both for his hips to sink down, for a little fumbling, and laughing against lips. But the noises turn to groans and keens when Tim’s hips drop down, take Dami _in_ , and it’s so good, so much _more_ than he could have expected, have ever _needed_ before.

The hands on hips move around to support, to grip his ass tight, to dig in and hold on with desperation.

The rapid span of Arabic, broken and half-formed, “ _so tight and warm_ ,” _“so amazing for me_ ,” _“I’ll die, Beloved_ ,” making Tim bite down ruthlessly on his lip almost drawing blood so he doesn’t come.

Tim stops breathing, just tries to stay still because it’s too much, _he’s too full_ and every inch of Damian presses on exactly where he needs.

Below him, Damian rears back, his mouth falling open on a silent cry. It’s beyond overwhelming. The tight, warm heat squeezing him, fluttering around him and it takes everything Damian possesses not to thrust, not to push into that tempting vice, not when Beloved is trying so desperately to adjust, _but he cannot just lay there._ He inhales shallowly, his hands twisting the sheets, searching for some way to distract himself, he cracks his eyes open to the image of Tim frozen above him and his minds instantly says, _‘There.’_

It seems like he’s not the only one that requires a distraction, his hand snakes down to find his lover’s cock, it’s flagging slightly, how unacceptable, and pinches just right under the head. Tim jerks, flexes hard in surprise and the action rips a deep groan from the two of them.

_“Dami!”_

“I’m sorry, Beloved,” Damian says, _deliberately doing it again._

 _“Ah!_ Why are you such a brat!” Tim slaps Damian’s chest, but it only encourages him. The silence breaking to a series of whines filling as the air as the pleasurable torture continues.

“Because I’m your brat,” Damian purrs. Tim is easing, relaxing minutely around him. He starts to needle the slit, back and forth spreading the precome that drips and drips. It’s absolutely fascinating to see the man _writhe_.

“Mine.” The word tastes so good on Tim’s lips. _“Mine.”_

“Yours,” Damian agrees, trailing his other hand up to flick a nipple. He admits he’s becoming very fond of this position quite fast, having access of all Timothy’s skin is very convenient.

Narrowing his eyes, Tim raises himself, drawing his hips up inch by inch until only the head remains inside of him. Damian’s freezes in his ministrations. Good. It’s time to teach his brat, his husband, a lesson.

Tim Drake Wayne always gives as good as he gets.

“B-Beloved? Do you not need more time to adjust–”

Tim drops suddenly. Sinking to the hilt as Damian arches sharply, forgetting everything momentarily, his eyes gazing over, the harsh cry echoes in their room. Good. That’s a really good look on Damian. Tim struggles from the onslaught of his own pleasure, it’s been way too long since he had someone inside him. But he’s glad that breaking all that, it’s Dami. He lifts his hips again and starts a rhythm to break the young man.

_“T-Timothy. Oh! Tim–”_

Tim hungrily smiles, angling in a way to keep off his prostate as much as possible. He needs the control right now, just for a little while longer. Needs to see Damian twist so desperately for him, still not thrusting up, what a _good boy,_ just letting Tim controlling the ride. “You feel just like I imagined, Darling.”

“I-Is that so?” Damian attempts to remember his hands, _but it’s too much._ His hands are too clumsy on Tim’s cock, though still effective, but he keeps forgetting with the onslaught of Timothy’s rolling actions.

Tim laugh echoes through the room. _“_ Y-Yes _, I feel so full.”_ He pushes himself down to grind their groins together, the angle accidentally hitting his spot, turning him completely mindless for a moment. He keens so high and it’s the most beautiful thing Damian has ever seen.

He must have more.

“Glad I could satisfy.” Damian cradles both hips in his palms, trapping Tim down, keeping that spot stimulated as it becomes Tim’s turn to squirm. “Allow me to satisfy you more.”

With his grip on those hips, he forces Tim’s body into tight circles, making every pass deliciously unbearable as Tim can’t focus on anything else except how deep Damian’s cock is.

“L-Let me up!” Tim growls, begs, clawing at the fingers holding them still. He thrashes but barely gets a single digit off his body. “Let me up, _damn it,_ Dami, it’s my turn to take care of you!”

"But we are taking care of one another, Beloved. Isn't that what husbands do?” Dami points out with an unabashed groan as Tim flexes his muscles spitefully. He plants his feet, letting his knees brace Tim slightly. Damian will need the extra leverage. “But as you wish, my love...”

He loathes the idea of leaving that body empty for even a moment but graciously lifts Tim up, waiting for that face to ease in minute relief when the pressure is off the gland...only to sharply pull Tim down as he thrusts up roughly.

 _Tim screams._ How divine.

“Perfect, you’re absolutely perfect,” he praises breathlessly. It’s the first time he’s seen Timothy so stunned. His back in one long line, his head falling backwards as he stares emptily at the ceiling. He’s too blown away with the pleasure arching through every nerve to fight, all he can do is shiver.

Damian determinedly sets a hard pace, taking most of Tim’s weight when those knees collapse, allowing him to move his body any way he wishes. It’s madness.

It’s bliss.

He rolls them over. Plants his hands and drinks in the sight of Timothy’s hair spilling onto the pillow in a halo when he lands, knocking the breath out from his chest momentarily. But Tim wraps his legs around his waist instinctively and the room echoes with their sounds when the angle changes.

The strangest contest persists between them: who can bring the most pleasure to the other? Tim puts up a good fight. He clenches his core muscles or nips at the wrist next to his head. His concentration returning enough to reach up and interlock his fingers behind Damian’s head. He viciously drags his lover down to lick and suck at gasping lips, Dami obligingly tilts his head and opens his mouth wider at the greedy noise rising from that throat. Having Damian’s chest flush with his, those thrusts turn from slow and hard to frantic, shallow, and wild and Tim can last just a bit longer…. _just a bit longer._ Damian retaliates by fighting to get a hand back on Beloved’s aching cock.

Tim slaps it away repeatedly, hissing all the while, _“No, not until you come.”_

“You come _first_ ,” is punctuated with a deliberated thrust to Tim’s prostate.

Tim’s skull knocks lightly against the headboard. He places a hand above to stop slamming into it, but it gives Damian the opening he needs to worm a hand between them. The sweat from their bodies making it easy. In counterpoint, he squeezes his fist, wringing a cry from below, and starts to time his hips with his stroking fingers to drive Timothy completely mad.

_“No! Ah, darling, please not yet!”_

The language dissolves to sweet endearments and filthy promises. Tim can feel his peak, can’t stop the climax from creeping upon him, not with Damian’s moans in his ear or how he’s being utterly tortured below. The pleasure is too great...he’s not going to last any much longer, but damn it he’s not above playing dirty.

“T-Tomorrow,” he presses Damian’s head against his neck, “Tomorrow I’m going to tie you up and you’re going to let me do whatever I want. I’m going to flip a coin because there’s just too much I want to do. Heads: I’ll blow you until you’re dry–”

“–And tails?”

Tim tugs at sweaty hair so Damian can see a wicked grin, “Tails, _I keep you hard for hours._ Play with you, use you like a toy until you tell me to stop. But because you love to see me come over and over again so _you won’t.”_

“I won’t,” Damian agrees, swears with a rasp, his nerves on fire from his words. He pecks Tim lightly on the lips. “And I have no objections on one condition.”

“W-What?”

_“Afterwards you must sit on my face until you pass out.”_

The deal is sealed with a deep shudder. With Tim falling off his edge with a silent wail, aching up against Damian, spasming around him in a way that he can’t stop from climaxing too. Desperate he keeps thrusting through it, anything to make their orgasms stretch and last.

And it does.

Several moments pass. The air is thick with their breathing and Damian pulls out wetly, collapses on his side next to Tim.

“Timothy, Beloved, _have mercy.”_

Tim quirks a smile. “That sounds like my line, Dami.” He coaxes Damian’s arm around him, because hell yeah you know he’s a cuddler.

Lucky for him, his husband is one too.

“You married me.” Behind him Damian sounds so fucking happy, Tim just wants to _die_. Just roll over and scream into the pillows but he can’t because Damian’s curled up around him and they’re sticky and gross but it’s _warm._ The whole thing is perfect in the most disgusting way. “You finally _married_ me.”

But honestly? He’s stupidly, idiotically...happy too.

It feels good.

He swallows wetly. “Yes. Yes I did.” He feels Damian draw him closer, spooning him as his husband, _Tim’s husband_ kisses the nape of his neck and he can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment.

So this is what wedding bliss is, no...what actual joy is like.

Huh.

_Huh._

Tim could get used to this.

Now they just have to survive Gotham wait…the Gotham ceremony. They have to do the whole circus over again. _Dear. God._

“Dami?”

“Yes, my dearest?”

“We should have eloped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have the best friends. Take Wintersnight for instance. She helped me a lot with writing some of the best lines in this, like the WONDERFUL wedding vows. Plus she is the ultimate sex-connector making all sexy transitions run smoothly, bless her. Also the-all-seer is fantastic at betaing, I don't know what I would do without her.


End file.
